From the Ashes
by Streamingwords
Summary: When tensions finally break, every nation falls under the shadow of destruction. Is it even possible to rebuild that which seems beyond repair? Rated for dark situations and some foul mouths.
1. Chapter 1

I just recently stumbled across Hetalia. Unfortunately, when I take an interest in something, my head tends to swirl around with it unendingly until I sit down and put something in writing. That is where this fic comes in.

Summary: The entire world of nations falls under the shadow of destruction. How will they manage to repair what seems to be utterly destroyed?

Notes: Both national names and their human names are used throughout this story. I had intended for it not to come from any specific perspective, but when I sat down to right it immediately become Brit-ified. So expect plenty of Arthur-centric bits.

Also: I always try to put forth an effort to avoid the inevitable pairing in my stories. However, don't be surprised if I am eventually drafted into the UK/US Navy. Ahoy!

R&R, please.

* * *

London was burning.

Arthur could feel it, even across the Channel, where he had been sitting in tense conversation in Francis' parlor. The effect was immediate; pain lanced through him with such sudden ferocity that the cup of tea he'd balanced in his palm clattered violently. Arthur did not even truly hear Francis' automatic response of disapproval when that intricately painted porcelain shattered on the floor beneath his feet. He was too preoccupied with clutching at his chest with a trembling hand.

Francis scowled, though his anger quickly transformed into concern as he realized the sudden distress from the other man. "Arthur? Are you all right?"

He heard a strangled noise that choked in the back of the smaller man's throat. Arthur's eyes had shaped into wide green saucers, blinking hurriedly in a blind daze as his other hand began grasping emptily at the air in front of him. Francis was at a loss, hand tentatively reaching across the distance to take hold of Arthur's wrist. "England?"

The only response that Francis found himself earning from the Englishman was a harsh whisper rasping out through his neighboring nation's clenched teeth. "Francis. Ring them.. Attacked..."

Whatever last thread of willpower Arthur had used to maintain his conscious state snapped. He distantly heard Francis gasp, registered the feeling of the Frenchman's arms catching his weight, yet Arthur knew nothing more beyond that as he toppled over into darkness.

* * *

It felt like ages before Arthur could finally open his eyes. He squinted against a spread of sunlight that filtered in through a nearby window, a hand automatically lifting to shield his eyes. His mouth had a grimy quality to it that reminded him of many mornings after a long pub crawl. It felt as though every muscle had gone stiff with pain. Had he been drinking? Arthur could only recall that he had been sitting down to tea with Francis, and aside from their usual trade of insults, it had been a civil meeting. Then it had—

Arthur gasped, sitting up sharply. He looked around him with darting eyes in an instinctive analysis of his surroundings. This wasn't his bedroom. It was a conservatively decorated, standard room. Certainly a room designed for comfort, but not for a lengthy stay. Arthur could discern, by the lack of flashiness alone, that he wasn't in Francis' house any longer. Though that merely deepened the mystery.

Throwing off the blankets, Arthur discovered that someone had thoughtfully dressed him in flannel pajamas at some point. They were not quite his size, the fabric cut a little larger than his frame, but the material was soft under his fingers. Arthur also felt a brief slice of delight as his feet swung down to bump against a pair of slippers laid out next to the bed, and he spied a drab robe folded over a chair nearby. He put them both on over the sleeping clothes. If he were going to go investigate outside of his bed chamber, British propriety would not allow the English nation to go tromping about in just his pajamas.

After tentatively sticking his head out to determine that the hallway outside was empty, Arthur stepped out of his bedroom. He belted the robe around his waist as he walked briskly down the corridor. It was eerily silent; for a time, Arthur saw no one present that might indicate where he was. Fortunately, his exploration was not very long before he found himself coming into sight of a large, familiar tapestry that hung against the wall. The Englishman's steps slowed, then lagged to a complete stop. He felt his jaw slacken as he looked up at the aged crest of Geneva.

What in nine bloody hells was he doing in _Geneva_?

"Good morning, England, sir! You're finally awake." Arthur turned as he was addressed, seeing that it was Toris coming down the hallway towards him.

He frowned absently at the Lithuanian, that automatic scowl ebbing some of the cheeriness from Toris' face. "'Good morning'? 'Finally awake'? I wake up in the middle of Geneva without the faintest notion of how I arrived or why I ended up here, and that's the best you have to offer?"

Toris' shoulders slumped in the face of England's foul mood. "S-sorry."

Arthur sighed. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The poor man did not deserve such rude behavior. "No, Toris. I am the one who should apologize for being impolite. To be honest, I feel utterly knackered." Dropping his hand to his side, Arthur peered curiously at the other nation. "What is going on? Why are we here?"

"Ah.." Toris' face darkened, eyes averting quickly sideways with those questions. He beckoned with his left hand. "Perhaps you had better follow me. I only know a little of what has transpired; you would be better off to hear it from one of the others. In the meantime, I would be honored to make some tea for you once you are settled."

"Wait – some of the others are here?" Arthur felt his eyebrows pulling together again. He twisted slightly towards the direction of his bedroom. "I should get dressed first if I'm to have a proper meeting."

He stopped when Toris reached out to take hold of his forearm. The Lithuanian smiled faintly. "I don't think they'll care, England. Trust me when I say that formality should be the least of your concerns right now. Please let me escort you."

"V-very well." Arthur could not interpret the man's words as anything less than holding dire promises for what he was about to find out. He shot one last look to the tapestry on the wall before following the lead of the other nation down the hallway. For some unknown reason, every step closer felt heavier and heavier the whole way there.

* * *

If Arthur had found his presence in Geneva to unbelievable, then the welcome that he received upon entering the conference room proved even more surreal. He could only stand there numbly as the familiar faces of his fellow nations greeted him with relieved affection. Ludwig smiled at him – actually smiled! – and from out of nowhere Feliciano practically threw himself into a lively embrace of the Englishman. Arthur could only manage to pat the Italian gingerly on the back before Francis was nudging the other nation aside.

"Arthur. Thank God." The Frenchman's voice was kinder than Arthur could ever recall. France was being tender – towards him? He found himself being embraced by the taller man, and it surprised him considerably how daintily the Frenchman handled the hug.

In times of such uncertainty, Arthur fell back on a response he could trust. He huffed in irritation and pushed the man's arms away with a scowl. "I'm not made of glass, Francis. Don't handle me as if I'm breakable." Somehow, in the face of Francis' unexpected tenderness, Arthur couldn't muster proper venom behind his voice or his actions.

Francis did not take Arthur's dismissal badly. He was long since desensitized to the effects of England's bad moods. The Frenchman swept an arm towards the table in the center of the room. "Why don't you have a seat? We were just conferring, the three of us, while we waited for the others to wake. Toris will bring some tea for you, won't you, Lithuania?"

"Of course." Lithuania bowed formally at the waist. He did not seem to mind the Frenchman's order; Arthur supposed that having to follow Russia's orders for so long had imprinted the subservient attitude into the Lithuanian eons ago.

"What is going on?" Arthur demanded of the nations gathered nearby. His mind was racing with questions, with concerns. He couldn't even decide what to voice first. "Why are we here? What is happening? Why bloody Geneva?"

"In time, in time." Francis sighed heavily as the Englishman balked at the offer of sitting down. He stepped behind Arthur in order to place both hands on the back of the smaller man's shoulders. Despite the fact that England's heels dug in a little, it wasn't too difficult for Francis to push the smaller body the rest of the way to the table. "Sit."

"Just because we're in your country doesn't mean that you're allowed to give me orders, Frog." Arthur was about to brew up a tirade, having to grasp at a chair to keep from tipping over when the Frenchman finally released him. "I can bloody well—"

"England." Ludwig's voice was loud in the room. Arthur looked quickly at the German, seeing that the man was no longer smiling. Ludwig's square jaw was firmly set, pale blue eyes grim as they regarded the complaining Englishman. "Now is not the time for arguments. You have been unresponsive for more than a week's time while recovering from your injuries. There is news to tell you, none of which will be pleasant. The gentleman from France has asked you to sit, so you will sit."

He stabbed a finger in the direction of the chair in front of Arthur. The Englishman stared at that extended finger for a few heartbeats before he sat slowly down with as much wounded dignity as he could muster. Internally, Arthur was surprised with himself – he must have been considerably tired if he took an order from Germany without protest. Arthur folded his hands calmly on the table in front of him, green eyes hard as he fixed Ludwig with an expectant look.

Feliciano trembled slightly as he took a chair beside Arthur. He seemed both fearful of Germany's harsh clipped voice and utterly riveted by it at the same time. The Italian breathed out the nation's name with admiration as he propped his head onto uplifted hands. "Hey, England! Did you know that we have a new map now? Germany was showing it to me today, but I still don't understand it."

"A new.. map?" Arthur tried to make sense of the Italian's rapid-fire words, his brain needing a few seconds to process them properly. His eyes dropped from the German's stoic face to observe the map that was spread out on the table in front of him. Then he felt the color draining from his face. "This.."

The surface of the large round table had been blanketed entirely by an enormous map of the world. Arthur could see that all the nations had been marked by tiny push-pins of assorted colors. He did not comprehend what the system was for the coding of those different marks, though it wasn't hard to define vital information from that glance alone. His summations were aided by the fact that some nations, tacked by red push-pins, also had large X's drawn across their surfaces by someone with an efficient hand.

"A total disaster." France said in a voice dripping melancholy. "Ah, my friend, how fortunate that you have been unconscious for these tragic days."

"I don't understand." Arthur shook his head, a hollow feeling inside him.

Germany cleared his throat. He began to gesture at the map, directing the Englishman's attention to the different nations. "The white zones indicate those nations who have been spared from the disaster. You will notice that we are in the middle of the European White Zone. Those who have been marked by yellow represent those nations who have reported damage within their borders."

Arthur's eyes mournfully shifted to peer down at the span of the United Kingdom. His eyes misted as he silently took in the sight of several yellow pins spread across his homeland. Unbidden, his eyes dragged dully to either side of that spot, far to the east and across to the west. He had to clear his throat against a sudden lump in his throat before he could speak. "Russia is red. America is black."

"Yes." Ludwig said gruffly. "Black represents those nations who we have not heard word from yet. We do not know the extent of their damage. America, Canada, the South American countries – we have not yet received word on their status. While some have indicated that they do not hold faith in hearing word from either nation," Ludwig's eyes flickered in the direction of France, "we will wait until we hear official news, whether good or bad."

He looked back to the map, as the harsh edge of his clipped accent softened. "Red.. represents those nations who have been reported as completely annihilated."

"Impossible.." Arthur breathed out, unable to believe it.

"Most of the Arab nations have been completely wiped out. Much of Asia, as well." Ludwig's long finger pointed out to the lands on the map that had been crossed out. "Japan was damaged, yet he managed to remain mostly unscathed."

"What the hell happened?" Arthur looked around at the other men. "What in the bloody hell happened that caused all of this destruction?"

Feliciano's head dropped, his hands shifting from beneath his chin as he began to weep. He dug the heels of palms into his eyes to try and discourage the flow of tears as he warbled. "Their bombs. Their bombs! They made the sky rain with fire and blew everything up."

France gave the crying nation a gentle pat on his head to comfort the emotional Italian. "Oui. A war broke out, Arthur. A war that started and ended quickly. Naturally, my friend, you are well aware of the tensions that have overshadowed many nations for decades. This madness started when Korea's brother decided to launch a missile at America. It was unable to make the entire journey due to a malfunction, crashing into China within a matter of minutes."

Ludwig nodded, continuing where the Frenchman left off. "This began a chain of events that quickly escalated out of control. Upon hearing that an attack had already been launched against America, Iran took the opportunity to do the same. As far as we know, their missiles didn't malfunction. We don't know whether America managed to deflect the attack or not." He tapped the western bulk of the United States. "Before those weapons had even managed to reach their destination, America had already launched a retaliation strike. Iran and most of its surrounding countries were destroyed in under an hour."

"What happened to Russia, then?" Arthur was trying to absorb all the information that they were sharing. "How did these other countries end up coming under attack? Why was I attacked, and by whom?"

"Russia snapped completely."

They looked back at the door when Toris' voice spoke up behind them. The Lithuanian held a tray in a white-knuckled grip. He walked it over to where they were gathered, placing it carefully down on the table in front of where Arthur and Feliciano sat. Arthur could smell the faint herbal blend of tea, though the comforting scent was nearly overpowered by the sharper musk of coffee. He could not think about coffee right now. Simply couldn't. Not with those black pins on those western nations.

Toris straightened, looking down at Arthur. "Ivan's darker nature has always been riled in the face of destruction and bloodshed. When he found out that the other nations had begun a battle of bombs, Russia decided to unleash his own arsenal of weapons." Toris' whole body was wracked by a disturbed shudder. "He just stood there, stood there with that damned smile on his face, and laughed as if the entire situation struck him as funny. I always knew how unstable Ivan was. But never once did I actually think that I would ever witness him doing anything like he did in that moment. Ivan just smiled at me in that way of his, warned my brothers and I that we should head further south, and watched his superior push the button."

Ludwig grunted quietly. "Apparently, he had no real target in mind for his onslaught. Judging by where his missiles ended up, Russia had merely fired them completely at random. Those are the nations outside of the skirmish that received damage. Our only possible response to his insanity was for our nations to return fire. The former Soviet Union will probably burn for the next decade."

"That bastard had lucky aim." Francis said, scornful. "Or perhaps they had always been aimed at the lot of us. I wouldn't have put it past Russia to have a missile aimed at every nation that had ever slighted him."

Feliciano was pouring a heavy amount of sugar into his mug of coffee. "Our Germany got everyone organized. He contacted all of us and told us to come here as soon as we were able. Lucky for me, my homeland was untouched by the attacks. I am very fortunate, same as big brother Romano." His earlier misery came creeping back as he watched the stream of sugar dumping into his mug. "He has been very unhappy, though. The corner of Spain caught one of the explosions. Big brother refuses to leave his side until Antonio is feeling better."

"I need.." Arthur murmured, though the words dried up on the tip of his tongue. What did he need? He needed to see his homeland for himself, with his own eyes, to survey the extent of the damage. He needed to find the strength inside that was currently eluding him and leaving him feeling so numb, so powerless. And he needed to know – had to know – what the hell was going on in the Western hemisphere. All of those things in time, he knew. For the present, it was a matter of first thing's first. "I need to get back to my room. I need more rest, I think. It.. this is all a little much to absorb for one day."

"Go rest." Germany told him. "There is no rush. With the world in its current situation, we have nothing but time right now to decide what to do in the aftermath."

Arthur pressed up quickly. He gave the teapot a blank look as he realized that he hadn't even had one sip of the tea Toris had so thoughtfully prepared for him. England couldn't even summon the energy to feel bad about it. All that he could provide them was a pale hand lifting in a silent parting gesture as he left them to continue their discussion without him.

* * *

Halfway across the world, a wounded nation managed to open his eyes. He did not know for sure where he was - somewhere in the deep wilderness in the north, if the sound of the trees burning were any indication. For the past few hours, he had been unable to do anything besides lay there and listen to the steady crackle of the burning forest, powerless to move or to even open his eyes to survey the damage around him. Now that he was coming back to himself, his strength returning, he now found it possible to blink up at the sky overhead.

It was daytime. He could see it despite the thick curls of smoke that filled the air high above him. The tops of the maple trees were blackened already from the fires. A few of them had lost all the fuel they'd had to offer the blaze, standing behind as smoldering skeletons of black ash. Much of this forest was beyond saving. It would have brought tears to his eyes if only they hadn't dried up while he lay there.

He knew that he could not remain in that spot. He did not know where he would go, or if there were even any safe haven left to go to, but he knew enough to understand that he had to gather the strength to find his way out of these burning woods. His limbs were stubborn as he tried to make them move. The dirt was cold underneath him as he dug his fingers in, a low wailing moan rolling out as he forced himself to turn over.

Matthew was not a man of considerable courage. But damned if he was just going to lie there and die. He knew that standing was out of the question right now. There were still other ways to move. His teeth grit against a rush of pain – his legs felt like they were on fire just as vibrantly as the forest around him. Matthew slapped his hands out in front of him, fingers digging deep into the dirt to find purchase, and with a silent prayer of thanks for hockey-related conditioning of his upper body, he was able to start pulling himself forward.

"C-come on, Matt." He whispered to himself in encouragement as he strained forward. "S-sure you're the quiet nation. No one – hrn! – listens to you. No one will pr-probably come looking for you. You don't need them t-too. You'll get out of this because… because you have too much on the line, eh."

He grunted as he spit some dirt out of his mouth, shaking his head quickly. "You've got hockey. Maple trees. M-music. Lacrosse. U-universal health c-care." He bolstered himself with each thing, until he saw the rays of pure sunlight sparkling through the tree line a short bit ahead. Matthew flailed desperately to cross that last bit of distance.

Finally, he felt the warmth of the sun on his face. Matthew pulled himself out from the shadow of the burning trees, lifting a dirty hand up towards the sky in a victorious gesture. "You… are Canada." Then he dropped his arm back to his side, head dropping heavily to rest right there against the soft cushion of grass as he proceeded to pass out from a fresh wave of exhaustion.

* * *

Matthew found himself having a strange dream. In the dream, the world had gone completely to hell. His own country had somehow fallen into the path of destruction. He had dragged himself out of a burning forest of maple trees. He had collapsed in a field in the middle of God-knew-where.

In his dream, he opened his eyes, squinting them against the blinding sun overhead. He still could not feel his legs except for the agonizing burn. The rest of his body just felt pleasantly numb. In the dream, Matthew rested there and wondered dimly what had brought him awake again. He wondered if perhaps a bear had come to investigate.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when something bent over him enough to block out most of the sun. It was still blinding him enough that he could not properly see. That and the fact that he'd lost his glasses somewhere along the way so that everything was a calm blur. Matthew raised a hand up to defend himself in the event that it was a wild animal coming to claim him for a kill.

Then he felt the firm warmth of a hand clasping tightly around his. It was an unexpected feeling. He squinted up again in an effort to sharpen his vision. In this kind of light, there was nothing more to see than a vague silhouette – a human figure looming over him, lean and large. Matthew felt the tension in his body melt away as he noted the familiar shaggy hairstyle, the broad shoulders, the confidence and strength that radiated from the fingers locked around his.

Matthew laughed softly. "You know what? I think they were probably aiming for you, anyway. You're late, dumb ass."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Somehow, I just hear Ivan giggling in my head while he's bombing the world. Kolkolkolkol.


	2. Chapter 2

A new day, a new update. Again, this installment is quite Arthur-centric. Good old England must be using some sub-conscious battering ram against my brain to wire it so that he gets a starring role.

Become one with Russia. Or just become one with a review. Cheers!

* * *

The rocking of the sea beneath his feet comforted Arthur's nerves. He stood on the railing, arms hanging lazily over the side while he watched the water below lick at the edge of the ship. Arthur had never cared much for the lofty style of French vessels. They were too thin for his tastes. Ships like these merely cut through the water like a knife. He preferred the sturdy bulk of a true British frigate. That variety of ship didn't just cut through the water; they parted the sea itself.

Still, he had to grudgingly admit that it was a good ship. Plus he hardly had room to complain considering that France had loaned it to him without an argument. Arthur laced his fingers together, thumbs rubbing their lengths in a lazy rhythm as he stared absently at the water.

It had been a whole week since he had woken up back in Geneva. In that time, they had welcomed several nations that trickled in. Arthur had overheard the good fortunes of those nations who had been spared the devastation. He also heard the whispered condolences regarding those who had not survived that terrible day.

Their map had gained a couple more red Xs the last few days. He felt a twinge of grief as he thought about the fate of Hong Kong, Thailand, Taiwan. Their involvement had not even been a matter of aggression, but simply an unfortunate proximity to larger, targeted nations. Arthur felt regret that he had never properly sorted out relations with Hong Kong. Then again, he'd always believed that there would be an infinite amount of time. How wrong that assessment had been!

He looked up from the water to focus on the distant curls of smoke rising from the island a mile or so apart from him. Arthur was itching to set foot on his homeland again. It was a siren song calling to him across the Channel, calling him home. He could not bring himself to do it. His courage was not strong enough yet, too damaged now with all that had happened. There was also the knowledge that a lingering danger still remained across those rolling green fields.

It was all his now. All of it. From one point to the next.

Arthur tried to remember what his reaction had been when Germany broke the news to him that his brothers were all gone. When he had watched the German ink those fatalistic red lines across their lands. Had he even wept for their loss? Surely there had not been some streak of pleasure, knowing that they would overshadow him no longer, nor had there been a dark, tiny thrill with the knowledge that his empire had once again spread its borders. They had been innocents, for all their faults. Now that they were lost to time, Arthur had felt the old weight of a heavier burden pressing down on his shoulders.

What the hell would he call himself now? The United Kingdom of Great Britain? He was the only one left, so it was hardly a matter of unification. Britannia? Arthur shuddered as that name brought to his mind glimpses of a dark, ancient past that was better left buried.

Arthur's musings on the subject were interrupted when one of the sailors crossed the deck to stand beside him, the Frenchman saluting crisply. "Sir Kirkland! We have spotted a foreign ship off the port bow."

"A ship?" Scowling, he held out his hand for the man's telescope. He crossed over to that point with the sailor at his heels. Arthur stretched out the scope to its full length before bringing it up. He squinted as he adjusted its focus. These things were so much easier to manipulate now than in his sea-faring days. When the distant ship became clear, Arthur found that he was unable to immediately place it by its design alone. He panned up the length of the mast to see what colors the other vessel was flying.

"…Well. B-bugger me." Arthur stammered out in disbelief. He checked through the sight one more time to verify what he'd seen, before lowering it down to his side. Arthur pushed the telescope back into the French sailor's hands as he made his way towards the helm. Pulling himself up into earshot of the helmsman, he barked out a sharp command. "We're changing our heading. Alter our course due west, immediately!"

When the man looked at him without comprehension, Arthur swore colorfully. Leave it to that damned Francis to provide him a crew that couldn't all speak English. He gestured broadly with his hand, repeating himself louder in broken French. If it got back to Francis that he had even spoken a word of that croaking, the Frenchman would never have let him live it down for another century.

Arthur hurried down from the bridge as their course began to change, continuing to snap out orders to the crew with flawless efficiency. "Get those sails open, you lot. I want to see them hauled up right now! One of you lazy sods, I want our flag at the top of the flagstaff! Fly your French froggy colors with pride, for God's sake."

The sailors were confused as they found themselves being ordered around by the Englishman. Yet with one look at the rather feral grin that had spread across the man's mouth, none of them put up a protest. Their efforts paid off as the vessel rapidly gained speed on its new course, cutting a direct line towards that distant ship.

Arthur, feeling full of excited energy for the first time in forever, pulled himself up by the rigging, planting a booted foot on the rim of the ship. He twisted sharply, free hand sticking its fingers into his mouth to emit a piercing whistle in order to catch another sailor's attention. "Oi. Get the ship's bell ringing. I want them to hear us coming the whole way. Dépêchez-vous, froggy!"

* * *

Cuba was pretty confused when the ship flying France's colors fell into line with their course on the starboard side. Not confused that it was a French vessel, but because of the unexpected nation standing on the side of the boat. He yanked his cigar out from where it had been pinched between his teeth. Smoke trailed through the air as he gestured with it. "What, did you finally manage to conquer France?"

"Only a matter of time." England answered cheerily. Arthur knew that he was smiling idiotically. He could feel it stretching his face from ear to ear. "So, Cuba, you aren't trying to smuggle some foreign cargo through British waters without permission, are you?"

That got a loud laugh out of the Cuban man. It shook his stomach with its force. "You bet I am. Though my cargo is usually much more cooperative and less messy than this load. Mister 'Awesome' and his stomach don't seem to agree with travel by sea, England. He's down below spouting some colorful bad words. You sure that you want him to mess up your pretty French boat with leftovers of his nasty cuisine?"

"No need to fetch the lout. I'm coming aboard, with your permission?" Arthur began to unwind a nearby rope even before Cuba waved him over. The Englishman glanced back to the sailors behind him with a smirk. "Go on ahead back to Geneva. Inform the officials that I shall be arriving shortly with some more survivors. Please inform Francis that I am grateful for the use of the ship. But, alas, I'd rather sail under some obnoxious stars and stripes today."

The old pirate in him felt exhilaration as he pushed back and let his momentum carry him between ships. Arthur's hand stretched out ahead of him as he neared the other vessel, fingers snatching hold of the rigging. A few of the others on board grabbed onto his clothes to steady him. Dropping the rope back, Arthur jumped down onto the deck and brushed both hands against the fabric of his uniform. "God, that took me back. 'Like riding a bicycle', as the saying goes."

"Welcome aboard our ship of misfits, England." Cuba chuckled. "Hope that you enjoy your stay."

Arthur looked around at the others on the ship. He jolted with surprise upon realizing that these were not merely hired sailors manning the vessel. It was the nations of South America. Arthur watched as the bronze-skinned men and women buzzed about the deck. "Goodness. Did everyone make it through?"

Cuba shrugged his shoulders. His good humor wavered briefly. "Basically, yes. It took some time to get them all rounded up. Mister America just couldn't understand that there would be such a big language barrier. Is it bad that we have them all here?"

"No, no. On the contrary, it is the most perfect outcome." Arthur explained. "The nations are meeting in Geneva as we speak. I just came from there myself. I'll navigate us back. Stay on this course for the time being and I'll plot a more specific heading in a few hours."

Cuba snorted. "Good. Mister America was not so clear as to where he intended us all to go. He just told me to 'sail towards Europe', so I am sailing towards Europe. I feel better knowing that there will be an end to this crazy trip."

Arthur's gaze strayed to the nearby stairs. "I should.. I should check in on him."

"Go on. I see the pretty little French ship sailing away. So long as I can see it, I know where to point this boat." Cuba said dismissively, shoving his cigar back into his mouth.

* * *

Down below, it was uncomfortably warm. Arthur even had to adjust his collar shortly after stepping down into the hold. His eyes searched around him to take stock of the supplies that were piled on the sides in hastily stacked boxes. At least they had come overly prepared for the worst. Arthur walked past the bulk of supplies, boot heels clicking loudly against the wood under his feet as he came around to another section.

He saw Mexico first, the man flitting around between some makeshift gurneys they'd roped to both walls. Arthur saw that he was tending to those who were lying in them, undoubtedly those nations who had not been fortunate enough to avoid the attacks. The man's brown hair was in a tangled mess. He crouched down over a bucket of water and shoved a cloth deep inside to soak it. Mexico caught movement out of the corner of his eye, looking up quickly to find England standing there. "Ah!"

Arthur raised a finger up in front of his mouth to quiet him. Some of the bed-ridden nations appeared to be asleep. He did not want their words to disturb their rest. God knew that they probably needed the restorative powers of a proper slumber. The Englishman stepped over in front of Mexico and settled into a crouch on the other side of the bucket, schooling his voice into a low whisper over the steady creaking wood of the ship. "Hello. I happened to be sailing in the area when we spotted this ship. I gave Cuba a heading. We should reach Geneva within a day or two if the weather holds."

"Thank God." The man breathed. His left hand released its hold on the cloth long enough to make a sign of the Cross in front of his chest. Dark brown eyes regarded him with relief. "I was afraid that we might have been sailing forever. Are you here to help me?"

"I can, if it will be of some use to you." Arthur swung his hands out helpfully. "What can I do?"

"There isn't much that _can _be done. I am merely trying to make everyone as comfortable as possible. Chile grew sick shortly after we left the mainland. And Peru decided to eat some unknown fish that he caught. I suspect that he probably poisoned himself. He has been sweating it out ever since." Mexico explained, nodding to a few men on the left beds.

"America and Canada are resting. They were both badly injured. If not for America's stubborn nature, I doubt that we would have made it this far." The man frowned disapprovingly. "I had warned him that pushing himself so hard was not going to help his injuries, but he would not listen to my counsel. As usual."

"I'll give them a check over. While I am no physician, I can at least try to see what I can do for them." Arthur promised him. He stood when Mexico did, following the man over to the other beds.

He saw Matthew first. The Canadian was peacefully sleeping, chest moving in an easy rhythm as the young man quietly snored. Arthur curled his fingers around the fabric of the blankets covering his slim body, inching it over with careful motions as the Englishman peeked below to see what the extent of his injuries were. Despite having seen his fair share of horrible things, Arthur could not suppress a flinch as he panned his eyes down towards Matthew's legs.

They had been burned badly in the attack. Arthur saw that they had tried to bandage them from the knees down to shield the injuries from infection. He could also see, as well as smell, the residue of burnt flesh that even now was soaked into the linen. Swallowing thickly, the Englishman murmured to the man beside him. "Those bandages will need to be changed. We'll have to keep them freshly wrapped as much as possible. If it makes you uncomfortable, I would be happy to do it instead if you can provide me the linen."

He eased the blanket back over the Canadian. Matthew seemed to register the sound of his voice on some level. A tiny noise squeaked out of the young man. Arthur's face softened as he heard it, the Englishman's hand moving up to smooth back Matthew's silky hair in tender affection. It seemed to soothe whatever distress plagued the unconscious man, as the Canadian settled back down.

Mexico was whispering to him. "America asked us to give Canada a lot of medicine for the pain. We have been keeping him this way since before we even left the shore." He pointed Arthur's attention towards the other bed.

Arthur saw a large, pale hand draped over the side of that mattress. He swallowed thickly to steel himself against the worst. Part of him railed against having to look upon his former charge and sometimes friend in a terrible condition. The Englishman ignored it as he forced himself over to the bed.

The youthful face of the man on the bed was paler than Arthur remembered. It was also tinged green, indicating the seasickness that he must have been suffering since boarding the ship. He knew for a fact that Alfred had never been meant for this form of travel. It was England that rode the seas, while America flew freely across the broad blue skies. The top half of America's face was masked by a folded cloth, its weight rested squarely over Alfred's eyes clear down to the tip of his nose. Bandages had been wrapped around the American's chest and shoulders. Stains similar to those from Matthew's legs had begun to seep through the white linen. Luckily, they only appeared to be in sporadic locations and not merely the entirety of Alfred's torso.

Arthur let out his breath in a shaken rush. He had not even realized that he'd been holding it, though his lungs now ached a little from the labor of keeping it all in. The Englishman reached for the blanket to peel it back just as he had done for Matthew. He jumped in place when Alfred's limp hand abruptly snatched hold of it right when Arthur's fingers had brushed against the fabric. Arthur froze in the grasp of that hand, strong even despite everything that had happened, and he watched to see what Alfred was going to do.

The American pulled Arthur's arm closer without making an attempt to unsettle the cloth on his face. Alfred's lips parted thoughtfully as his other hand lifted from beside him. Arthur's eyes tracked the other man's movements as America let his fingers trace curiously over the surface of his palm, his fingers, mapping the structure of England's hand. The touch was warm and familiar enough that Arthur's heart swelled up in his chest.

Alfred lips curved, offering a pale imitation of a smile. Even without an added glimpse of his blue eyes, Arthur could read the sad affection expressed within it. Alfred sounded both impressed and amused as he whispered up. "I'd know this calloused hand and that limp-ass pinky finger anywhere."

"You daft bloody tosser." Arthur said in response. The words were thickened with affection and unsteady emotion as the Englishman's eyes began to tear up in relief. He bent over the bed, letting Alfred keep hold of his hand. Arthur lowered his head until his forehead pressed on the American's chin. "You damned, barmy, wonderful brat! I was sick with worry over your sorry arse."

"Glad to see you, too, Arthur." Alfred said with a low chuckle. That seemed to rattle in his chest, causing the American to cough roughly. "Hey. Don't think that just because I'm in this bed doesn't mean I'm not awesome enough to climb out and toss you overboard. I heard a rumor that Englishmen float like wood."

"Considering the fact that most of the South Americans probably like me by default more than they like you, I doubt that they'd allow it. With the exception of Argentina, naturally." Arthur teased him. He sniffled, straightening up to brush a sleeve across his face. It wasn't going to do him any good to stand there and cry, like some emotional nancy-boy. "Are you even going to ask me why I'm on your ship, against all odds?"

"Either you felt my seasickness from half the world away and magically teleported yourself here to taunt me about it, or the beacon of my awesomeness acted as an oracle to lure you like the North Star." Alfred smirked. "Or else we're just somewhere near England and you happened to be sailing around the neighborhood. How the hell should I know, Arthur? I'm just so damned glad that you're _here_. If I were a bawl-sissy like you, I'd probably be crying right now."

Arthur shook his head. "You ass. You're right lucky that I found you out here. Cuba doesn't seem like he's the best navigator on the planet. I was out surveying the damage from afar."

"Damage?" Alfred frowned. He still had not let go of Arthur's hand, fingers squeezing it at the mention of that word. "You came under attack?"

"Most of the world did, America." Arthur said softly. "As much as you'd like to convince yourself that you're special, there are other nations out in the world, and we have enemies just the same as you. Russia got a little trigger happy."

"I knew that much. He had always been fucked up. Even before the Cold War, I could tell. Ivan always gave me the creeps."

"How did you manage to survive?" Arthur's voice was gentle. "Germany and France were under the impression that you had probably been completely wiped out from the bombs."

Alfred snorted. "Nah. We'd been working on defense systems against that kind of attack for several decades. In fact, the day after we'd developed that goddamn bomb, we began working on a means to protect ourselves from it in the event that if fell into enemy hands. My kick-ass anti-rocket rockets managed to destroy the ones that Iran sent over." He paused, wet his lips, then whispered. "I tried to talk them out of firing the bombs back. Tried to convince them not to retaliate. I knew the kind of chaos that it would have started. They just didn't listen to me. By the time I had managed to start heading towards Canada, they'd already destroyed the Middle East."

"And your injuries?" Arthur looked over the length of the American. "You were obviously hit by something."

"Yeah." Alfred shook his head under the cloth. "That was Russia's fault. We had been prepared for the onslaught coming from Iran. But a few of Russia's missiles managed to slip through our defenses. Underhanded bastard. I always knew he'd try to take a piece of me, if he ever got the opportunity."

"How bad is it?"

The American said nothing. Arthur sighed, prompting him more gently. "Alfred. How badly?" When the younger man still gave him no answer, the Englishman took hold of the cloth covering Alfred's face.

That caused Alfred to respond instantly. His other hand slapped Arthur's away when he felt that cloth starting to lift. "Don't. Let it be, England. There's nothing to be done for it right now. Besides, how can you be so caught up in concern over me? It's my fault that this all happened."

"You can't blame yourself." Arthur didn't like the edge of bitterness in Alfred's voice. The sound of self-recrimination. There had been only one other time when he had heard it from Alfred, in the man's mockery of his own tongue, that sloppy American dialect. That had been decades ago, at the end of the war, when Arthur himself had been too worn down and battered to offer anything more than hollow words of assurance. "We were fooling ourselves to think that it wouldn't happen eventually."

"Maybe. We provoked it, though. With our demands and our rules and our goddamned _pride_. I didn't even take one second to think about what could happen – if I'd just used my _head_ for once." Alfred's words trailed off as a rather disturbing noise choked them off. He released Arthur's hand and flailed a bit desperately. "I'm gonna get—"

Mexico reappeared beside the bed just in time, lifting a bucket up in time as America vomited directly into it. Arthur turned away seconds before it happened. The Englishman raised a fist up against his mouth as he quickly swallowed down a bit of bile that surfaced in response to the younger nation getting sick in front of him. He would not throw up too, goddamnit! "Better out than in, America, as they say. I can't help but wonder if your poor diet habits might be responsible for your current propensity for such violent honking."

"Don't talk about food right now, you asshole." Alfred groaned out pitifully. He blindly accepted the cloth that Mexico pressed into his hand to wipe his mouth with, doing so with a low moan of abject misery.

As the young nation rolled back down, Arthur sensed that this might be his only opportunity to catch the American by surprise. While Alfred grimaced from the taste in his mouth, the Englishman silently reached down and pulled away the cloth from Alfred's face. The motion made the American automatically stiffen. As it was, Arthur himself found his own muscles locking up as he gazed upon Alfred's face.

The burns were not nearly as severe as those on Matthew's legs. They had left an angry path of blistered red flesh, beginning a little under Alfred's hairline and ending at the bridge of his nose where his glasses normally sat. Arthur knew that those burns would heal over time. The American had a thick skin, after all. It was Alfred's eyes, however, that looked the worst.

Where they had always been the crystal blue of a summer sky, they were now a mottled, milky color. Arthur watched them darting back and forth, unable to settle in any one place. They were searching the air in front of the American, registering nothing. Perfectly blind. "My God. America.."

"Are you satisfied?" Alfred asked him harshly. He'd angered the other man with his action. "I told you to leave it, didn't I? It wouldn't hurt you to listen to what I tell you to do once in a while."

"I'm sorry." Arthur said. And he meant it sincerely. He had to tear himself away from staring at those damaged eyes. Was that something Alfred could heal? Arthur cleared his throat. "The cloth does need to be changed, though. Let me help you."

"Let Mexico do it. He was doing fine on his own before you came along." The American said shortly.

"America. It is painfully obvious that he has already been working very hard." Arthur told him sternly. "The man is not here just to take care of you." He gave the other a short bow of respect, Mexico taking it as a signal to go.

Arthur saw that Alfred was sulking. It never did go easy between the two of them. He refused to allow the American's mood to affect him. Arthur turned aside and began to work his military jacket open. Alfred's head cocked curiously at the sounds of the cloth rustling. "Are you undressing?"

"No, idiot." The Englishman smacked him lightly on the back of the head. "I'm just getting more comfortable. It's hot as hell down here and I am beginning to sweat horrendously." Arthur folded his jacket carefully. He draped it over a nearby crate and started rolling up the starched white sleeves of his shirt, until the fabric was gathered securely above his elbows. "Now. I'll get the cloth for your face first. Then I need to change Matthew's bandages."

"..How is he doing?"

"I can't say for sure, honestly. His legs look in rather poor condition." Arthur admitted as he discovered the trunk that they'd been carrying their medical supplies in. The Englishman pulled a few cloths and a roll of wide bandages out of it. "Whatever they have been giving him seems to be providing him some relief from the pain."

"Good." Alfred nodded, a hand still rubbing ruefully at the back of his head where that slap still stung. "I've been worrying about him. He was a mess when I found him there on the border."

"How on earth did you manage to find him in your condition?" Arthur asked curiously as he carried over the bucket of fresh water Mexico had left. He dipped the cloth inside, wringing it out to force out some of the extra moisture. "Could you even see enough to look for him?"

"Nope. Couldn't see a thing. Then again, I'm used to getting around pretty well half-blind. Every time I misplaced my glasses I was left stumbling around all over the place. It wasn't very easy to find him up in the wilderness. I managed to find him only due to two important factors."

"Which were?"

"First, he's my brother. I simply followed the mystical pull of brotherly love until I nearly ran him over. Second.." Alfred smirked, "I'm America. It's just what I _do_."

Arthur shook his head. Honestly, he should have known the answer would have been something along those lines. "I'm sorry I asked. How did you both manage to work your way down south so quickly?"

"I called Cuba up before the communication lines went down. He flew all the way up in his plane to come and get us. At the time, he'd wanted to just fly over to Europe right then, but I talked him out of it. We needed to check on everybody down south first. You know – make sure that they were okay."

"Mexico mentioned that." Arthur shifted as he brought the cloth up. He began to carefully roll it across the surface of Alfred's face, being as gentle as he could in consideration of the burnt flesh. Arthur took his time, especially when Alfred's body jerked in response to pain. To distract the American from it, he murmured warmly. "You know something? This reminds me of when you were a little boy. It seemed like you were always having a tumble, or cutting yourself while wrestling around with some wild woodland creature. And every time, you would always come running in to find me, bawling like an infant with snot running down your face."

"It's not like you ever complained that much. You'd just give me a lecture and send me back to play." Alfred chuckled dryly. "Just admit it: You got a kick out of coddling me when I was a child."

"Hardly. Your constant scrapes with danger were more of a nuisance than anything. It seems to have escaped your mind that I was an extremely busy empire at that time."

"Aw, come on. That's hardly fair." Alfred poked a finger blindly at him, prodding the Englishman in his ribs. "I never complained when I had to doctor you, remember? You always came back from your constant little skirmishes, injured and angry, and I had to help get them all wrapped up for you."

"Yes, yes. You were an excellent medic. Why, you held all the promise of becoming a skilled physician when you grew up. I might have even sent you to university, if not for one obstacle – your flawless stupidity."

"Wow. Man, you Brits talk so much about your gentlemanly natures, but when it comes to a fight, physical or verbal, you guys are never satisfied unless you can land a hit below the belt."

"What can I say? You just bring out my better nature in me, I suppose." Arthur shrugged. He patted Alfred's shoulder. "That should do it. Relax for now while I go take care of your brother. I'll be nearby if you need anything."

* * *

"Arthur? You there?"

The Englishman's eyes dragged open, blearily blinking in the direction of Alfred's bed. Arthur wondered when he had dozed off. He'd finished tending to Matthew, checked on Chile and Peru. Then he'd sat down on a few stacked crates to rest. Judging the darkness of the cabin, nightfall had overtaken them. He was too stubborn to admit that he was still feeling ragged, tired from the damage that had been inflicted on his home. "I'm here." His bones ached as he stood back up. The pain in his back no longer hurt; instead, that soreness was replaced by knotted muscles and an incessant itch that Arthur couldn't relieve. He went to Alfred's side.

Despite the dim light, the Englishman saw that the younger man was sitting upright on his bed. Alfred had gathered the blankets up over his chest. Naturally, this position had unsettled the cloth shielding his eyes, so that it had fallen into the American's lap. Alfred's head turned slowly in his direction. There was a pained expression on his face as his sightless eyes darted desperately around. "Arthur, please don't hate me, but I think I've made a terrible mistake."

Arthur rubbed at his eyebrows with a long-suffering sigh. "We already went through this. America, it is not your fault. The war would have happened regardless of your loud-mouthed bravado. Would you kindly put it out of your mind already?"

"I'm not talking about the war!" Alfred said dismissively. "Arthur – I totally forgot about stopping to pick up the Falkland Islands!"

* * *

Author's Note:

Dépêchez-vous, froggy! - Either I was clever, and that meant "Hurry it up, froggy!" or else I just insulted someone's mother. kolkolkolkol


	3. Chapter 3

Long Chapter. Wasn't sure how to break it down, so I just threw it all together.

I hope that you are all enjoying this as much as I am. After reading through so many other Hetalia stories, I feel inadequate! *panic*

Also - I am trying to incorporate other nations in here as much as possible. It is a bit of work. ... WHY MUST THERE BE SO MANY?

Please let me know if this is going well. Thank you!

* * *

It was considerably colder on deck when Arthur made his way back up. He watched a puff of breath coil out in front of his face while tugging his uniform more snugly against his chest. Several of the other nations had already retired for the evening. A few huddled together under the thickness of their blankets, unused to the chilled environment. Arthur tried to step past them as quietly as possible as he returned to the helm.

Cuba seemed to be in high spirits. He did not even seem close to tired as the man sung under his breath. Arthur could not understand one word of the tune, but it was easily recognizable as one of the Cuban's own songs. The broad-bellied man was even swaying in time with his singing. It made Arthur a little jealous; he could have used some of that excess energy right now.

Seeing England coming to stand beside him, Cuba's song faded with a sloppy grin as he removed his cigar. Did the man have an endless supply tucked away somewhere? "I didn't hear a gunshot. So he must not be so bad off. I was kind of hoping that you'd put him down with a mercy killing."

"Merciful for him, or for us?" Arthur asked sardonically. Green eyes were startled when the Cuban man offered him a pack of cigarillos from the pockets of his shorts. He hesitated, then slid one out for himself. "Cheers. You want to hear something funny? I quit smoking decades ago. After a patchy evening out and the next morning's miserable hangover, I had a moment of self-realization: Either quit smoking or stop drinking."

Cuba laughed heartily. "You Anglos are always trying to make yourselves quit something or another. Me? I like my vices. Life is too short not to enjoy it, right?" He winked at the blond, thumb expertly working his lighter as he offered to light the cigarillo for Arthur. After dropping the lighter back into his shirt pocket, Cuba looked towards the ocean surrounding them. "Besides – now seems like a good time as any to rediscover bad habits, don't you think?"

"I can't argue with that logic." The Englishman experimented with a tout on the cigarillo. It was a pleasant taste, distinctly flavored. However, he miscalculated. Arthur bent forward as an explosive cough tore out of his lungs.

With a chuckle, Cuba swatted him on his back to steady out the coughing fit. The poor Englishman was practically purple in the face. "Better pace yourself, England. It takes a seasoned professional to enjoy a good Cuban brand with that much vigor."

Arthur took hold of the rail nearby to steady himself. He waited for it to subside, croaking out. "Sorry. Quite sorry. That is definitely _not_ like riding a bicycle."

They fell quiet together after that. Arthur was much more careful now that his lungs had been turned inside out. Their smoke trails traced a silvery path under the dull lights that illuminated the ship. That foggy quality reminded Arthur once again of home.

"Hey, England?" Cuba emerged from their separate reveries with a thoughtful tone.

"Yes?"

"What do you think is gonna happen when we finally get to Geneva?" The Cuban's dark eyes locked on Arthur's face, unyielding and sharp.

"I assume we'll all meet. Decide what to do. Make plans on how to properly rebuild what has been destroyed." England shrugged. "Our responsibility to the world, to our homelands, was great before; now it is tenfold. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering. You know, about what to expect down the road." Cuba absently tapped some ashes from the end of his cigar. "America said that this was the best course of action, but I don't know that I agree with him. Then again, I make it a point of _never_ agreeing with him. Same with Mexico, for that matter."

"Really? America had said that you were fully prepared to make the trip to Europe when he'd asked for your assistance."

Cuba shrugged. "Eh. That is what I thought when he first mentioned it. But that was before I flew up to retrieve those boys. When I got there, when I saw them for myself, I started to think that maybe going to Europe was not the best thing."

Arthur frowned, face angled so that he could study the man more openly. "Why? Not to say that you don't have the right to be concerned, but why would you decide against the most logical course of action? Europe is still very much intact, from what we have gathered. Well, Europe and Africa, to be more precise. The South American nations seem to have escaped attack as well. They will be well on the road to recovery once we can all cement some plan for the future. Knowing that, are you still concerned?"

"Actually, that makes me even more concerned than before." Cuba said darkly. He spat onto the deck. "Ah, that crazy America should have listened."

"I'm afraid that I don't follow you." The Englishman confessed. "What's the matter?"

Cuba jutted his chin sharply in the direction of the stairs. "You saw those two. Saw how bad off they are. My friend Matthew might not be walking around again for quite some time. Those wounds won't just go away overnight. And America might be determined enough to pretend that he's the same cheerful fool as always, but you and I both know that his injuries are tearing him up. I saw his eyes, England. I know what state he is in."

"When I went with him, collecting up all the nations one by one as fast as we could, I saw how much of a struggle it was for him just to move around. Saw the sweat on his forehead, the trembles of his body. Hell, he practically collapsed with Matthew in his arms when I landed my plane. I don't even know how America had managed to get him as far as he did in his condition."

"Well. He fancies himself the world's hero." Arthur murmured. "America doesn't know when to quit. I suspect that he never got far enough into his silly American-English dictionary to even learn the existence of that word."

Cuba leaned over into his personal space. Arthur's back stiffened, though he refused to retreat. That left the Cuban with nowhere to go but right into his face. Cuba's voice was gravely serious. "England. Is that going to be enough? His cockiness, his bravado? You think that is going to be a strong enough shield to protect him? I know all about you Europeans. History doesn't stop at my borders."

"Your power struggles, your domination of each other, time and time again. You guys might make nice and shake hands around your table, but let's not fool each other here: It's no different than sharks circling one another, just waiting for when they can take a bite out of the weaker prey. While the years have made you guys happier with 'diplomacy', it's a whole different ballgame now, isn't it?"

"The world has gone to hell. The sharks are now swimming unchecked and the water is rich with blood. It's just a matter of time before one of them decides to strike. Canada cannot walk. America cannot see. If the damage is as bad as it looks, maybe they never will again. What do you think those predators will do when they realize that such an opportunity exists? That the world's greatest superpower wouldn't even be able to watch them pull the rug out from under his feet?"

Cuba leaned away, eyes narrowing. "It'll cross their mind. It'll cross yours, England. And as much as I hate the man, as much as he annoys the hell out of me – the fact remains that he is at least a nuisance that I am used to. The Devil I know beats the Devil I don't." He turned back to the helm with a shake of his head. "You wanted to know why I was worried? There's your answer. What do you say to that?"

Arthur averted his eyes away from the other man, fixing them on the expanse of water ahead of them. "I… I would say that you might very well be right. When I realized that America was still alive, it made me immeasurably happy. Yet now that you have pointed out to me the possibilities that his injuries might provide him even more suffering in the future.." Arthur sighed. "Perhaps I should have put a bullet in his head after all."

"Do you think just one bullet would have done the trick?" Cuba smirked. "That skull is too thick; you probably would need a high-powered rifle just to penetrate his forehead."

The joke was intended to lighten the mood. Arthur's mind was too distracted to allow it to serve its purpose. He glanced down to the smoking cigarillo in his hand. "Cuba?"

"Yes?"

He dropped the cigarillo to the deck, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot. "It is a long-shot, a right gamble, but I think I may have formulated a plan."

* * *

Japan often wandered by himself away from the sprawling grounds of the Geneva complex. It was quieter without the others around. On his own, he was spared the constant questions from the European nations, though he could not fault them their curiosity over what had transpired near his home. What bothered him was their seeming need to be constantly hovering in each other's space – his space, to be more precise.

There were few people outside of the walls of their headquarters. He did not know for certain how many citizens still lived in this nation. None of his fellow nations seemed to have an answer to that question. How many were dead? How many still lived? What direction was left for them to take when everything had been so utterly ruined?

His fingers brushed up against the bandages that were still wrapped around his head. The pain had become less intense, mercifully, over the past week. It was a nuisance of an injury, yet Kiku knew that he could easily tolerate it. He had suffered much, much worse in the past.

Other nations had not been so fortunate. Japan tried not to think of them much, except in a concerted effort to appropriately honor their memory. He walked past the few French citizens that littered the streets winding through the city. They looked empty, devoid of feeling, as if everything that had transpired had somehow clipped their hearts from their minds and left them operating like robotic dolls. Kiku had seen those expressions before on the faces of his own people, though he felt detached from the memory.

Japan let the streets carry him towards his destination. He went to the pier on a daily basis. It had become a new ritual for him, some spare comfort that gave his soul peace. He would come to the harbor and wait. Wait for new arrivals, wait for news – or just wait. Having tuned his personality so much that he needed to be constantly active, this was the one thing that he could do and do well in this foreign place.

Kiku stopped on the pier. He watched as the sun crept up over the water's end. It reminded him of the many times he had done this back home. The distant ripples of endless blue water was touched by that sunlight, and it was as though a paintbrush had scattered colors across the surface. Kiku admired the flowing stretch of reds, yellows, and oranges. He tilted his head, allowing himself a smile. "To think that the sun would still feel gracious enough to smile on this world."

A ship was docking further down the pier. Kiku was too enthralled watching the sea to spare it much attention. He stretched both of his arms out in front of him, shaping his thumbs and index fingers so that they formed a frame around that picture-perfect sunrise. If only he'd had his camera with him. It would have made a lovely photograph.

"Ahoy, Japan!"

A voice was calling to him from a short distance away. Kiku did not drop his arms, nor did he fully turn towards the source. He twisted at the hips, swinging his extended hands with him to carry his focus onto this new image. The box of his fingers slowed their progress, so that he was framing— "England-san?"

There had been talk that the British nation had discovered a ship while measuring the damage of his island home. Kiku dropped his arms as he walked in the direction of the incoming vessel. His head tilted back as he peered up at the Englishman waving at him over the railing. He waved back. It seemed the right thing to do.

Kiku stood by as they began to secure the ship in place. He saw that the people upon it were gathering their belongings to disembark. A few of them looked ill. They all looked exhausted. Japan watched as they began to move down the ramp that had been placed for their descent. Pressing his hands flat against his legs, he began to bow at the waist to greet each nation as they stepped off the ship. "Konnichiwa. Welcome to Geneva."

England waved him up once most of the nations had disembarked. "Would you mind giving me a hand up here? We could use another able body to get these boys off the ship."

Kiku blinked. What boys was the Englishman referring to? He nodded quickly and made his way up the ramp. Arthur gave his shoulder a grateful squeeze as the other nation neared, the blond smiling tiredly. "Thank you. I promise not to put too much work on you, considering your injuries."

"These are nothing." Kiku responded with a flush across his cheeks. The concern made him feel awkward. "Who is it that we are assisting?"

Arthur headed for the stairs of the ship, speaking back to Kiku over his shoulder. "Alfred and Matthew are both injured. Both Cuba and Mexico are going to handle getting Canada off the ship and to the hospital ward. However, Alfred is a bit thick in the britches for me to handle all by myself."

"A-America-san?" They stood back as Cuba came backing up the stairs, balancing one end of a gurney. Kiku saw that it was Matthew on it. The Canadian appeared to be heavily sedated. He did not even respond to the jostling as Mexico brought up the rear of the gurney. Cuba and Mexico both looked like capable men – Kiku was beginning to have his doubts that he'd be able to carry America in such a manner. "Are you sure that we will be able to carry him ourselves?"

"His legs should work just fine. It's more a matter of keeping the damned fool from tripping over his own feet." Arthur informed him. "Alfred never quite mastered his sea legs." As they prepared to go down the stairs together, the Englishman warned him in a gentle voice, "Try not to be too surprised by his condition. He's too proud to let on, but I think it bothers him considerably."

"Of course." Japan nodded. Did England really believe that he'd make such a social faux pas? He followed the blond as the other man walked down the stairs in his usual stiff-backed manner. Kiku stayed directly on his heels as Arthur led him around the hull of the ship. "They were well supplied for their voyage."

"Hey! Is that Kiku-chan?" America's voice was an explosive noise in the tight quarters. Japan managed not to flinch. He had informed the American many times that addressing him in such a manner was incredibly insulting. America had probably forgotten. Again.

England had stepped to the side so that Kiku could see the American. He was sitting on a bed, a bright smile across his youthful face. There was a pair of ridiculously large sunglasses on his face – something that looked better suited to Cuba than to the American. America was shirtless; Kiku felt his cheeks heating up in response to the blatant display of flesh. There were fortunately enough bandages wrapped around his torso that the American was presentably modest. His denim jeans looked like they had been torn up to rags. That might have been from the attack – or it might have just been one of those silly American style fads.

Kiku bowed respectfully as he stopped in front of the taller man. "America-san. I am most grateful that you are still with us."

Alfred laughed at Japan's formal tone. The man pushed the sunglasses that he was wearing further up on the bridge of his nose. Kiku wondered where his spectacles had gone, but thought it inappropriate to broach the subject. With a beaming smile, America gave him a thumbs up. "It would take more than that to get rid of me. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I asked him to help." Arthur informed him. "You're much too large for me to handle on my own." The Englishman retrieved Alfred's jacket from nearby. It was blackened in patches, a few holes having burned clear through the leather in some spots. He observed, for the first time, that the paint of that large, obnoxious '50' had been damaged to the point that it was barely visible on the back. Arthur tried not to dwell on it as he draped it carefully over Alfred's shoulders. "Japan – would you kindly grab his other arm?"

"Yes." Japan stepped over onto America's other side, pale hands reaching to gingerly take hold of the man's forearm. Both he and England slid Alfred's arms across the width of their shoulders, using that leverage to get the American up onto his feet.

Alfred let out a quick, shallow breath of pain. He flinched behind the sunglasses. "W-wait. Give me a second, guys."

Kiku immediately went still. He looked up to the American's face. Alfred's delicate features were taut with pain. He tried to collect himself as quickly as possible, eventually giving them an unsteady smile. "Whew! Okay. Let's get going."

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked him. The Englishman was almost paternal in his concern for America. "You don't have to force yourself, Alfred. We can wait here until someone else comes back. You could just wait on the gurney."

"Hell no!" America scoffed playfully, tossing his head back with a laugh. "The good old U.S.A. never crawls onto the scene. You guys are lucky – you get to be part of my heroic, cool entrance! I can't keep my fans waiting, now can I?"

Arthur's eyes rolled skyward in annoyance. "You are impossible."

"If by that you mean 'impossibly cool', then I am in total agreement with you for a change." Alfred grinned. He curled his arms in so that he could collect both of the shorter nations into an embrace on either side, squeezing them affectionately. "Ha ha! I'll try not to get too far ahead of you guys if I can help it."

Kiku grimaced as he found his head getting pulled in against the American's shoulder. He had come out to the docks to find some solitary peace. Now he was inches away from a rather sweaty American armpit.

Sometimes things just refused to work out his way.

* * *

The responsibilities of treating the injuries of the nations had somehow fallen onto Estonia's shoulders. Fortunately, the Baltic nation had his brothers to rely on for assistance. While Toris was divided between performing duties here and elsewhere, Eduard still had Latvia on hand to perform tasks. He currently had Raivis making careful notations of Canada's vital signs. The younger Baltic had turned green in the face upon seeing the extent of the Canadian's injuries, but the Latvian had managed to soldier through the unpleasant task without complaint.

Estonia had his own difficult patient to deal with. He glared at England for the hundredth time because the man had dumped this problem on his lap. That problem being a restless American that wasn't responding well to his efforts to perform treatment. "If you refuse to remove the sunglasses, how can you expect me to complete the check-up?"

"Hey, don't blame me. Looking this good requires sacrifice, man!" America said brightly. "Besides, you haven't even unwrapped me yet. I'd rather you inspect my manly physique first. Just try not to get jealous, okay?"

Eduard grumbled under his breath. Arthur stepped in, placing a hand on America's shoulder. He had been hovering there at the American's side ever since they had brought Alfred into the medical facility. The blond man leaned in to whisper into Alfred's ear.

Alfred's head whipped quickly his way. "What? Are you sure?"

"Positive." Arthur murmured. He moved back, clasping his hands together at the base of his spine. "Just trust me. I think it will be safe in present company. And besides, Alfred… we need to know, don't we?"

Their exchange went right over Estonia's head, leaving the man confused. America frowned, reluctant with his movements as he reached up to grip both the arms of his sunglasses. He sighed and slid them off his face. "All right, England. I guess I'll just have to trust you on this one."

Estonia clicked the penlight back on, rolling his stool closer until his legs bumped against America's. He focused the light directly into Alfred's left eye. Eduard tracked the subtle motions of the eyeball in response to that invading beam. "Again. Anything?"

"Nope!" Alfred said cheerfully.

"All right. Let's give the other one a try, okay?" Eduard directed, his other hand making a quick notation on the document balanced on his lap. He waited as America switched his hand over, palm moving to cover his left eye.

Estonia brought the light up again, clicking it on less than an inch from the American's eye. This time, at least, he got a flinch out of the man. Alfred quickly blinked away from the high beam of light. "Ouch! You coulda warned me first, man."

"Sorry. But that is some good news, at least. You still have some sight in your right eye. Now it will simply be a matter of testing exactly how much that is."

Estonia clicked the light on again. "I'm going to shine the light on your eye again. While I do it, I am going to run my finger back and forth across the beam. I'll keep moving the light further and further away. Let me know when it gets to the point that you can't see the beam change anymore, all right?"

"Roger that." America's hand touched to his forehead in a lazy salute.

With a nod, Eduard began the test. He drew back incrementally, breaking the beam of light in a steady rhythm. Estonia stopped when Alfred's hand made a quick signal. "Wait – there. Now it's fuzzy."

"Good, good." Estonia made another notation. "In your American system of measurement, I believe that would be about twelve inches?"

"That sounds about right. I've always had things get fuzzy right around that point. Anything else?"

"I thought we'd try a test without the light. I'm going to hold up different numbers of fingers. I want you to tell me how many you see, so that we can tell how responsive your eye is to immediate changes."

Estonia went through a few numbers with the American. Alfred had some trouble with identifying the numbers - a few of his answers sounding suspiciously like lucky guesses. When Eduard finally grunted in satisfaction, America grinned. "So, what's your prognosis, Doc? Are you gonna have to amputate?"

Arthur snorted, finally speaking back up beside them. "He's not going to amputate your head, git. Though maybe he should. Then we can open up that skull of yours and discover a cure for whatever has diseased your brain."

America smirked in response to England's sarcasm. He raised a hand, lifting it into Arthur's face with an American one-fingered salute. "Hey, England – how many fingers am _I _holding up?"

"Charming as ever." England pinched hold of that uplifted middle finger. "This is good news, Alfred."

"Guess so. One eye poor, the other one terrible." Alfred snorted as he reached up to scratch beneath his chin. He was a little off with judging the distance, very nearly stabbing himself in the nose with his fingers. "Do you think it'll be permanent?"

"It's too soon to say for certain." Estonia said with a shrug. "The tissue might regenerate. I can't tell yet if the damage is only on the surface, or if the entire eye itself has been injured. Our optimal outcome would be that the burn is only on the outside of the lens. If that is the case, then it is quite possible that it can be corrected. We won't know until it has healed further."

"Then I guess we wait and see. I'll have to try to be patient." The American's hand crept up higher on his face, towards the bottom of his right eye. "Though it really itches.."

Horrified, Estonia pushed America's hand hurriedly down with his own. "Don't scratch it! Don't scratch it, touch it, do anything to it. Just let it start healing - and don't pick at it. My goodness."

"Put the sunglasses back on, Alfred." Arthur instructed him when it seemed that the American was becoming too distracted by that itching wound. "Estonia has given you a doctor's order. I expect you to take it seriously."

America swung his arm out blindly to point at Estonia. The other man had to lean back to prevent getting smacked in the head by the American's flailing hand. "He's not even really a doctor, England! Just because he's smart and all doesn't exactly make him a professional."

"Don't argue." England swatted the American abruptly on the back of his head.

"Don't hit me." America countered sulkily. "You might make my eyes pop out of my head if you keep doing that."

"Um." Estonia looked between the two nations as they began to bicker. It was not unlike watching a tennis match. "If you'll excuse me, then, I have others that need to be checked up on." They were too involved to even have heard him. With a shake of his head, the Baltic nation rolled his stool back and walked silently away.

* * *

Matthew was having another dream – perhaps not so much a dream, more like a surfacing memory.

_He was a child again, running through the grass fields outside of the childhood home that he sometimes shared with his brother. The sky stretched out, wide and blue, as far as his eyes could see. (America liked to call them "spacious skies", in his superior, knowing way.) Canada's hands stretched out to either side of him, blades of grass tickling across his fingers as he ran forward, voice lifting beyond the peaceful quiet of the chirping birds and rustling leaves, calling out for his brother. "America, America!"_

_Somewhere nearby, he could hear his brother's laughter. They had been chasing one another up and down the valley for almost an hour now. Canada always had trouble when it came to catching his sibling. America was very fast, much more agile. (Even poor England had trouble containing the child when it came time for them to take their dreaded baths.)_

_Canada gasped as the grass beside him shifted. He knew that America was close! With little hope of overtaking his brother in a foot race, the delicate little boy had to be resourceful and take what chances he could. With a coiling of his muscles, Canada flung himself in that direction with a desperate sneak attack._

_He collided into a warm body, heard the squeal his brother made as America was caught off-guard. They tumbled together in a mass of limbs and breathless giggles. Canada saw that his sibling was in the same exact condition as he was – their once pristine clothes that England had so carefully dressed them in now covered in grass stains, their hair in wild tangles, their faces both flushed rosy in their childish excitement._

"_No fair, Canada." America immediately protested when he had enough breath, just like he did whenever he lost. "You can't just jump on somebody to catch them."_

"_Sure you can. Papa France jumps on people all the time." Little Canada shrugged his petite shoulders. "You're just a sore loser."_

_America's mouth opened to voice further objections. It snapped shut when they heard the sound of England's voice carrying to them across the fields. The older nation was calling their names, probably due to the fact that it was getting darker out as the sun set over their heads. America's blue eyes looked them both over with a critical study. "We're a mess. He's probably going to yell at us again."_

"_And turn purple in the face." Canada nodded soberly in agreement. "And make us eat his food."_

_Grimacing, America stroked at his chin with his fingers. He usually did that when he was thinking up an idea. Or about to do something mischievous. Canada stayed seated there in the grass as his brother stood up. America stretched his hand down to his smaller brother with a beaming smile and a glint in his eyes. "Let's hide from him for a little bit longer. We can go to our hiding spot. There's no way that he'll be able to find us – no bath, no yelling, and no weird pudding. Yeah?"_

_Canada didn't think it was very logical to assume that making England have to hunt them down was going to make their mentor's anger any better. More than likely, it was going to be even worse for them by hiding that much longer. He peered doubtfully at America's hand for a few heartbeats as he weighed his options. Then, smiling, he fit his hand into his brother's and let himself be pulled up to his feet. "Okay!"_

_Minutes later, they were perched together high up in the branches of a tree just on the edge of the forest. America had to help his brother scale the tree in order to get up there. For some reason, scaling the heights didn't seem to bother him as much as it bothered Canada. He clung tightly to a nearby branch while America lounged back comfortably, swinging a leg over the side. "Hey, Canada?"_

"_What?" The boy blinked owlishly at his brother, voice nervous from being so high up._

"_You're always going to be my brother, right? No matter what happens?"_

_Canada scrunched up his face. "Well, of course. That's a stupid question. We're already brothers. People say all the time how much we look alike. That we're nearly twins."_

_Those words made America laugh. "They do, don't they? Not that they're right. Our hair isn't even really the same color. Yours is… like.. like the maple syrup that France puts on his pancakes when he visits. And mine is like… well.." He tried to decide how best to describe it._

"_Yours is like the honey that England puts on his scones." Canada supplied with a smile._

"_Yeah!" That answer seemed to satisfy America. He leaned forward, hovering by his brother. His blue eyes were very serious in his face. Sometimes, America seemed much older than he looked. Canada often got the impression that his brother was actually an adult hiding in a child's costume. America asked him, solemnly, "Seriously, though. No matter what, right? You have to promise."_

"_I promise." Canada whined irritably at his brother's persistence with the subject. "We're brothers. No matter what."_

_America stiffened moments later, alerted to something in their environment. He clapped his hand down over Canada's mouth to keep him quiet, eyes shifting in the direction of the ground below. Canada pushed his hand off. He'd gotten the message and knew not to talk. He also knew that America's hand tasted like dirt._

_England had come searching for them. The two boys watched as the blond man came into sight behind the mask of branches. His green eyes were dark with concern, while his eyebrows were drawn tightly together with disapproval. Normally, England towered over the pair of them when they were standing on the ground. Up this high, he looked much shorter._

_Clucking his tongue, England surveyed the landscape around him, his coat looking as though it had been hastily slung on. He seemed to check the time with a skyward glance towards the setting sun, harrumphing at what it told him. England called for them by name. "America? Canada? This is most absurd behavior. Come here at once!"_

_They clasped their hands across their mouths to muffle their giggles. America had found the perfect hiding spot after all. England truly had no idea where to find them. The two were hidden so well that no normal person would have been able to discern them from the mask of foliage._

_Unfortunately, England was far from normal people. _

_America made a face as he saw the blond man tilting his head. England began to speak quietly to the air as if in conversation with another person. They saw his hands gesture sharply in agitation. The man stopped to listen to whatever invisible words were being spoken to him. Then, frowning even more deeply, he whirled around towards the tree they were hiding in. Planting both hands on his hips, England snapped up in a dire voice. "You both get down here this instant!"_

_America's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I really hate it when he does that. Stupid invisible fairies.."_

_The dream jumped ahead. _

_It was several years later. England and France were constantly at odds with each other at that time, so it wasn't often that Canada and America were allowed to see one another. The few occasions that they were, it had made Canada very happy. His house always seemed much more alive when England brought America up to visit._

_Late one evening, England sat them both down together at the parlor table where they normally took their lessons on history, nations, commerce – important subjects that England had informed them would be necessary for them to know when they grew up. He did not pull out any of his beloved leather books tonight. Instead, England simply placed a writing board down in front of each of them, an odd little smile playing across his mouth. "All right, boys. I have something very important for you both. It is high time that I give you both proper names."_

"_We have names." America pointed out, confused. "America and Canada."_

"_Not your national names." England shook his head. His fingers drummed against the wood of the table as he tried to explain himself. "There will be times when you will have to go out into the world, among the peoples of your nations. They'll need your guidance, not just your presence. At times like these, when you are called upon, it will be necessary for you to interact with them without identifying yourselves by your national title."_

"_For example," he continued, after the two boys had exchanged oblivious looks, "you both know that I am England. The British Empire. But when I walk amongst the men and women of my lands, I do so without their knowledge of my true identity. To them, I am known as Sir Arthur Kirkland. That is the name I chose for myself."_

"Do we get to pick our own names?" Canada asked hopefully. He was worried that they were going to end up with strange sounding names if the decision were left in England's hands. While Papa France might have selected something elegant, England was more likely to assign him something plain. Like 'George', or 'Henry', after one of his kings.

"_I have already chosen them for you." England answered, shredding his hopes. He rested the tip of his finger down on the top of Canada's writing board. "I am going to say the letters. You will write them down - then I will ask you to read what you have written when we are done. Consider it a spontaneous lesson in grammar and reading. Canada, you're first."_

_After he had repeated the same thing with America, England nodded encouragingly. "Brilliant. Now, kindly read your boards."_

_America peered carefully at the letters, speaking the two names as if tasting them. "Alfred Jones."_

_Canada brightened. "That one's pretty nice, actually." He looked eagerly back at his board to share his own. "Matthew Williams."_

_The two boys both lost their smiles. They turned their heads to stare at each other in silence. England's eyes shifted between the pair. "Is there a problem, boys? They are both very good, strong names."_

_America looked back at England. The boy's face darkened with an oncoming tantrum. He stood up so quickly from his chair that it toppled backward to the floor. America picked up his board and threw it disgustedly aside. "I hate them. Our names are just fine now!" The taller youth stamped his foot hard, blue eyes flashing. "Stupid England."_

_However, the boy's attempt at sounding angry dissolved as tears welled up in his eyes, and America ran from the room wailing like an injured infant. England was wide-eyed, not quite sure what had just happened. He stood up slowly from his own chair, looking away from the door that America had run through to where Canada still sat in his seat. "What… what the Devil was that all about?"_

Matthew stirred, rousing himself from the fog of memories. He was in a room somewhere. It smelled of antiseptics, hints of bitter medicines, cleaning products. The weight of blankets rested on his chest, soft pillows cushioning his head. Matthew could hear the distant steady bleeping of medical equipment somewhere in the background, plus someone snoring nearby.

So he was out of the woods. Literally and figuratively. He could only dimly recall patches of the events that led him here. America had found him, and Matthew remembered his friend Cuba arriving in an airplane. They had gone flying somewhere. Their conversations had gone straight through his ears. Alfred's face had wavered in the space above him from time to time. _Why are you fussing so much about me, when you can't even heal yourself?_

Alfred. America.

Matthew smiled faintly as he became aware of the steady warmth resting against his side. He lifted his head further, squinting his eyes until the vision of his sibling sharpened. Alfred had fallen asleep in a chair next to Matthew's bed, arms folded up underneath his head where it had nestled close to the Canadian's ribs. That explained the snoring.

Alfred had dozed off with a pair of sunglasses on his face. They were slightly askew now from having been pressed into his forearms. Matthew reached over to nudge him awake. Alfred snorted loudly, absently wiping drool from the corner of his mouth as those crooked sunglasses pointed in Matthew's direction. "…Matt?"

"I was just having a dream about back when we were kids." Matthew said softly. "About that night when England gave us our names – do you remember?" His eyes were laced with pain but very affectionate as he looked over his sibling. "You spent the whole night throwing a fit, crying on and on because we weren't given the same last name."

Alfred was quiet as he searched his own memory. Then he smirked. "England was always fucking things up."

"I didn't care though. It didn't matter to me." Matthew's hand lit upon the top of the American's head. "You are always such a baby about certain things."

America snorted. "I know that that's just the drugs I'm hearing, because you're speaking nonsense." Alfred sat higher up in his chair. "We're in Geneva. They took a look at your legs – Estonia thinks that they'll heal up just fine. You might have some scars. Though, honestly, dudes with scars are pretty bad ass, you know."

"I'm a… a bad ass, all right." Matthew said hazily. Reality hadn't quite settled in yet. He wondered just how much drugs they had pumping through his system. "And you? What did they say..?"

"Don't you worry about me, little brother." Alfred ordered him merrily. "Your only concern right now should be getting better. I'm gonna need you up and around if you are going to be my wingman!"

"I wish you'd make up your mind on that, America." Matthew mumbled. "'Gonna' or 'going to'. If you can't speak your butchered language with consistency, then there really is no hope for you."

"England says the same thing." The other man's smile brightened. "I'm glad that you're finally awake. They are going to be meeting here shortly in the conference room. I thought that'd I'd go and represent the both of us. Is there anything that you want me to tell them on your behalf?"

"Just one thing." Matthew let his eyes fall closed, relaxing back as the drugs began to lure him back under. "That whatever comes out of your mouth in regards to my nation, I have absolutely nothing to do with it."

America blinked down at his brother as the other man settled back deeper into the mattress. "Huh. Funny. All of South America said that as well…"

"…Alfred..?" Matthew didn't even recognize his own voice. It sounded so far away from him.

"Yeah?"

"What's the… the 'F'. You added it.. later, right? What does it… stand for?"

America smiled down at his sibling as the Canadian drifted away. "The 'F' in my name? Simple – 'F'uck England."

* * *

"Oh! Oh! America looks like a movie star today!" Feliciano exclaimed delightedly from his seat. He had been spinning in it for the past few minutes before the American finally arrived in the conference room. His brother, finally tired of it, took hold of the arm of Feliciano's chair. Romano was less impressed, snorting up derisively. "Hey, stupid America. You look dumber than ever."

"I'm doing very well, Other Italy. Thanks for asking." Alfred grinned, flashing a peace sign in the direction of the brothers. He lingered near the door. Was England even in the room?

As if summoned, the American felt familiar warmth brushing near his side. Someone's shoulder touched against his, and Alfred was able to guess by the height alone who it belonged to because the other nation had been making a habit of doing that since 1942. Arthur's voice was dull with a lack of enthusiasm as he whispered near Alfred's ear. "The Italians are as lively as ever. Nuclear warfare couldn't alter their intelligence or their personalities. I'll guide you to your chair. Just follow my lead."

With a nod, Alfred hovered close to the other nation. He could vaguely see the table, several of the chairs around it already occupied. England stopped at a spot where two chairs were free. Alfred had to stop himself short from colliding into the smaller nation's back. He took hold of the back of one chair, pulling it out. America gingerly eased into it. He had to be careful, since determining depth was still close to impossible.

Arthur waited until Alfred was fully seated. The American's impairment, fortunately, wasn't too apparent through his behavior. England glanced around the room towards the others. None of them seemed to have noticed anything unusual from Alfred. Though unusual behavior was pretty standard from the American anyway.

Once it seemed everyone had arrived, Arthur picked up one of the small wooden gavels. There were some stationed in points along the length of the table. It was another effective tool for gathering the attention of so many other nations. Looking down at it, Arthur smiled wistfully as he recalled the first time these gavels had been introduced to their meetings. There had been so many close calls with bludgeoning.

Clearing his throat, Arthur rapped the gavel against the table. The others began to end their conversations, all the buzzing voices filtering into silence as their faces turned towards where the Englishman stood. Arthur placed the gavel down when he was certain he had their attention, bracing his hands on the table in front of him. "Ladies and Gentlemen – my fellow nations. I would like to take this opportunity to thank each and every one of you for making the trip here to Geneva for this assembly."

"As you are all aware, our world is an unprecedented predicament. Those of us who are here represent the nations that were fortunate enough to have survived this tragic event. Some of you may have already heard the fate of our fellow comrades who are no longer with us." Arthur gestured towards the map of the world. It had been removed from the table and put up along the wall, so that it towered over them all. "The situation is on the verge of becoming worse, however, considering the obstacles that as yet await us upon moving forward. As for that report, I will now yield the floor to Germany."

Arthur nodded politely to the German, taking his own seat as Ludwig stood. Germany tapped his knuckles against a stack of documents in front of him. "Contact within the world has become greatly limited. Many of you are only here because we were able to reach you through the old-fashioned method: written letter. Communication lines are down across the globe: radio, telephone, etc. We are not certain to what extent they have been damaged; it could be months, even longer, before we can determine that for sure."

"England referred to the map that you see on the wall behind me. The colored markings are our best judgment as to what areas of what nations were damaged in the attacks. Japan has suggested that we make the effort to link with both national and international satellites. It is his belief that they should still be in operation. If we can make the connection with them, then we should be able to discover critical information." Ludwig paused when he noticed that Finland's hand raised into the air. "Yes, Finland?"

"Um. Not to sound dubious of your intentions or anything," Finland said with a smile, "but isn't that technically – you know – spying?"

Germany looked towards Japan with a raised eyebrow. Japan stood up from his chair with a reserved expression. "In normal circumstances, it would be an act of hostility at worst, or poor diplomacy at best, to link into another nation's satellite without permission. These are not normal circumstances. And to be perfectly honest, we have been spying through America's satellites for decades." He bowed formally. "My apologies." Japan sat back down as if it wasn't a major confession.

America responded by high-fiving the air in Japan's direction. "Ha ha! Japan, you're so cool!"

Ludwig hammered his gavel a few times. They seemed about to get off-track. This was a common occurrence whenever the nations tried to get anything accomplished in one sitting. "Finland raised an excellent question. Japan gave his response. Is there anyone here that takes issue with us using their national satellites for the purpose of obtaining pertinent information?"

"I do. Yo, me!" Romano's hand shot straight up into the air.

Feliciano pushed his brother's hand down. If he didn't behave, Germany was going to murder him. "He didn't mean it, Germany! Big brother Romano was just trying to be funny. Hee hee." He laughed weakly, nervously, as the German glowered in their direction.

"I think that we can allow it this time." Francis said loudly, drawing attention away from the Italians and towards himself. He preened when all the eyes were on him. "After all… I for one think it would be easy to secure a promise from lovely little Japan that he would not use our satellites for naughty practices in the future." The Frenchman winked lasciviously in Japan's direction, lips puckering briefly. Japan's cheeks flushed scarlet but he refused to acknowledge the flirting.

"Can you tone down your hormones for just one goddamned meeting?" England asked in a huff at France's blatant behavior. "This is serious business."

"My hormones are quite serious business." Francis purred, as he blew a kiss towards Arthur.

"My intention to choke the life out of you is quite serious." Arthur growled back, the Englishman's hackles starting to rise. His hand started inching back towards the gavel in front of him. America must have sensed his murderous intentions – Alfred chose that moment to put a hand on England's forearm.

Ludwig banged his gavel hard enough to shake the table. "Gentlemen, please! Keep focused. We were discussing the use of satellites. No one stated a protest, therefore, I move that the motion is decided by unanimous vote."

"Our next item is concerning how we will communicate with one another once this convention has ended. Without the benefit of technology that we have been afforded these past decades, we must unfortunately return to relying on the old methods of communication. My proposal is that we decide, as an assembly, to determine some centralized location that will serve as a hub for all communications. A headquarters, if you will. This will give us the ability to process information quickly from all of you, and allow us to send out any pertinent news in a timely matter."

"France has proposed that we assign Geneva as this central spot, since it has proven successful at accommodating us in this instance. Is there anyone opposed to this proposal?"

"I oppose it." Predictably, Romano raised his hand again as he spoke snidely.

Ludwig looked around the assembly, purposefully ignoring that upraised hand. "Anyone? No? Good. Then it is decided."

The German flipped a few of his papers over. "The next order of business on today's agenda is in regards to our political futures. Some major zones of land have been left vacated now, without a nation to represent them. I am sure that the topic is going to generate many passionate opinions as to who should succeed in overseeing those lands." As everyone began to whisper, Ludwig raised both hands up to quiet them. "We are not opening it up to discussion today. It will take a few days for us to even officially determine what has been utterly destroyed, what is available, and so forth. Once we have that information, then we will meet again. There will be a formal announcement as to what lands will need supervision."

"We will be appointing a committee of nations that will meet after this. They will lay the ground rules for the process of obtaining these open lands. This is not the distant past, where taking more land was simply a matter of conquering it with strength. We will not revert to our barbaric past. We will handle this process with diplomacy and nothing else."

"Now we will open the floor to nominations for nations to be appointed to the committee. Please keep your votes orderly. Let's begin."

* * *

Author's Note: kolkolkolkol. ... That is all.


	4. Chapter 4

I own nothing. Sad. I am trying to keep the balance between a serious tone and not having the characters seem too out of their normal behaviors. Unfortunately, I just can't keep America as an idiot all the time. I think that I'm still searching for their voices. Eh..

* * *

"I can't believe it. I can't fucking believe it!" Alfred shouted, vehemently kicking a chair over. It thumped on the carpet of his assigned bedroom.

The American was furious. Arthur hurriedly closed the door to Alfred's room behind him to keep the man's tirade from drawing attention from those out in the hallway. The Englishman hissed a warning at him. "Contain yourself, America. Shouting and screaming and abusing the poor furniture is not going to change the situation. Now calm down before you aggravate your injuries."

Alfred was not swayed by England's warnings. He forced his bomber jacket off and threw it on his bed, hands thrusting up through his hair in his anger. "They knew I wanted to be on that committee. They know that I _should_ be on that damned committee."

Seeing that the American was not going to calm down on his own, Arthur marched over to where Alfred was stomping in front of his bed. He reached up to place his hands firmly on both sides of Alfred's face, careful of not touching the burns that stretched beyond those sunglasses. "Alfred!"

That pressure on his face brought the taller nation around. His mouth shut as he looked down at England. "What?"

Arthur kept his hold on Alfred's head, holding him still with all the quiet strength he possessed. "You need to calm down. This isn't anything worth getting worked up about. Now I want you to sit down and take a few deep breaths. I'll fetch you something to drink from the bar."

"There's a bar in my room?" That piece of information distracted the American from his tirade.

Arthur released Alfred's head, pushing back on his shoulders until the taller nation sat down on the foot of his bed. "Yes. One of those ridiculous little ice boxes with tiny bottles of alcohol. This _is_ France, after all. You shouldn't sound so surprised. Wait here."

Alfred's hands rested limply in his lap, shoulders drooping as he let go of his anger. "I don't understand it. Why did they overlook me, Arthur? I had a few nominations. Germany just ignored them all. He did it on purpose."

When Arthur wandered back, he had a glass in each hand. One of them was offered down for Alfred to take as the Englishman murmured, "He might have. I overheard some of the others talking amongst themselves before you arrived. Many of them blame you for what happened."

"That asshole!" Alfred said sourly as he took a tentative sip of the liquor in his glass. The American's face scrunched up in response to the strength of the alcohol.

Arthur sat primly on the bed next to Alfred, not even batting an eye as he downed his own glass of its contents. The burn of the liquor felt nice as it went down his throat. "I don't disagree with you on him being a bloody tosser. Yet even you have to agree that Ludwig is the most efficient leading force in our entire conference of nations. He holds a lot of sway with the others, so his opinions are automatically given that much more consideration. You, however, haven't exactly been in everyone's good graces for a time."

"What difference does that make?" Alfred asked tersely. "This is entirely unrelated to finances. Arthur, they can't just be allowed to do what they please. Goddamn Europeans are going to be deciding the fate of the globe."

Arthur tried not to bristle at the insult. It wasn't intentional. Probably. "I'm on the committee, Alfred. I wouldn't allow anyone to simply prance around as they please, taking what they want. My conquering phase retired itself ages ago."

"I need to—"

"There is nothing you 'need to' do." Arthur corrected him. "You cannot police the other nations, America. That is a part of what got us into this mess in the first place. There's not even any promise that you can run your own home, given your condition."

Alfred's face angled towards him, shadowed with resuming anger. "I'll heal. I will heal, and America will be fine. Whatever I have to rebuild, I will rebuild."

"And what if you don't heal? What if Estonia's worst-case diagnosis was correct? Alfred – have you even allowed yourself to consider the possibility that you might not be able to recover from this? You are in a vulnerable position right now. Why do you think I proposed the idea of toning down the severity of your injuries in the company of other nations? We have been lucky so far. Only a handful of nations know how critical your injury is. If it were to get out to the rest of them.." Arthur shook his head. "Well. I highly doubt they'd want to place such a large responsibility in the hands of the blind."

"I am America. America is me. There's no way in hell that I'd entertain the thought of handing it over to any other nation without a fight." The American shook his head.

"Look, I am not trying to upset you." Arthur murmured. Of course, he also knew that he'd already gone and done exactly that. "Let me reassure you instead. It will all work out, Alfred. I promise. You need to trust me enough to believe that I won't allow this to get out of hand."

Alfred scowled down at his empty glass. "I.. trust you. I have to, don't I? You and Matthew are my only allies here. If everyone else blames me for what happened, then I have no other option than to rely on you to help me through this." He blanched at the bitter taste of the words in his mouth. "I hate being helpless. I hate having to be in this situation."

Arthur patted the top of the American's hand. "You're strong. Freakishly strong, in fact. I have the utmost confidence that you will find your way through this, Alfred, and that you will emerge from the ashes stronger than ever. You always have."

England stood up from the bed, intent on putting his glass away. However, before he could get any further than a step, a strong grip had taken hold of his sleeve. Arthur looked back to the seated American. Alfred opened his mouth. Shut it. Then opened it again to ask softly, "Are you leaving?"

"Are you asking me to stay?"

Alfred let go of England's sleeve, trying to make his shrug look as casual as possible. "Hey, you don't have to. I just thought… you know. If you were feeling frightened by all this, or if you were upset with everything – maybe you'd want company. It's my job, as the epitome of heroism, to comfort those who need it."

Arthur stared at him with a neutral expression. Then, his head fell to the side, with a tiny smile. "You're a bit old to be scared to sleep by yourself, Alfred." He saw the American's head duck down to hide disappointment.

Alfred's head snapped back up as Arthur's fingers ruffled through his hair, the Englishman smirking. "I'll stay. Not to spoil you, nor do I want to encourage this childish behavior from you. I will stay with you – for the simple fact that I too am a little bit frightened."

* * *

Arthur startled awake in the middle of the night.

There was a heavy weight against his side. He squinted in the darkness, only to find that he had a large American plastered to him.

Arthur _knew_ that they had settled on opposite sides of the bed to sleep. He distinctly remembered curling up onto his side as comfortably far as he could get from the American without the risk of tumbling off the mattress. His exhaustion had been severe enough that the Englishman fell asleep shortly after his head hit his pillow.

Now he had America clutching at his waist as if he were some sort of floatation device. Arthur grunted disapprovingly, wrapping his fingers around the intruding forearm to throw it back off of him. Or at least he thought that must have been his intention. As the moments ticked by, and his traitorous hand would not cast that arm aside, Arthur found himself counting the steady beats of America's pulse in the nation's wrist instead.

There it was. The hard evidence - the proof of an existence that had somehow miraculously survived destruction. Arthur had let himself believe that this heartbeat had been diminished forever. Now it was a constant pulse that vaguely echoed the beating of his heart; something so simple and easy to forget about, yet just feeling it right now managed to bring the sting of tears to his eyes.

It wasn't long before he was able to fall back asleep with that vital thrum still drumming underneath his fingers.

* * *

"Are you ready for this, Matt?"

The Canadian looked dubiously at the door from the confines of his wheelchair, then up to the American that was smirking broadly at him. "I told you once before, Alfred. I'm really fine with staying in bed."

"Nonsense! You're just as needy for the outdoors as I am. You have been cooped up in here for too long. Let's get you outside, get you from fresh air." Alfred took hold of the handles, beginning to wheel his brother from the medical ward. "Just, um.. warn me if we're going to run into anything or anybody."

"I'm in a chair with moving wheels. You are blind as a bat. How could this possibly go wrong?" Matthew asked with a nervous laugh as they began moving down the corridor.

It had been two weeks. Two more weeks of the world turning, while they waited to see what might unfold. Alfred had come to visit Matthew every single day, without fail. Cuba came now and then, bringing small treats for the Canadian to enjoy. Ice cream, true French pastries. The food and the company had done wonders for Matthew's spirits.

Matthew's legs had been healing well. They were still nowhere close to being fully functional. The burns were not as painful as they had been. With Alfred to coach and encourage him, Matthew was already healed enough to manage a few small steps, until the pain drove him back to bed. And then Alfred had brought in that silly wheelchair with a broad smile. For the first time in two weeks, Matthew actually had the opportunity to see the outside world.

He laced his fingers together comfortably across his stomach. So long as Alfred kept his pace slow then there wasn't as much risk of a crash. Matthew spoke up to his brother over his shoulder, eyes appreciatively soaking in the sights around them. Alfred had secured a new pair of glasses for him, so the Canadian was actually able to see again. "So what's the news today, eh?"

"I'm not sure. England's been busy these last few days, so I haven't been able to ask him anything. He has the unfortunate position of being the lone gentleman diplomat in a pack of barbarians. I think it has been wearing him out, having to mediate everyone's arguments and bickering. Plus, France is on the committee. I'm sure England is struggling just to control his own temper, let alone everyone else's." Alfred's voice had grown sour by the end of his explanation. It was obvious to Matthew that his brother still felt bitter about not being included on the committee.

"You don't need to bother yourself with their arguments." The Canadian pointed out in an effort to assure his brother. "That would just give you more stress to deal with. We don't have to worry about that – we just need to get better."

"I guess so." America did not sound convinced by his brother's persuasion. Alfred made a frustrated hum. "You might be right. But – I'm so restless here, Matthew. I hate this useless feeling. I should be in that room, getting ten things accomplished before lunch. Now I'm just hanging around bored until lunch. It's unfair."

"England is there. France is there. You're just going to need to have faith that they'll do the right thing."

Alfred didn't argue with the Canadian's words. Matthew was convinced that everything would work out well. They had an ally on their side, after all. So then why was it that Alfred couldn't shake the doubt in his heart? "Hey, Mattie?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's go faster!"

* * *

Arthur massaged his temples, trying to deter the headache that he'd developed thirty minutes ago in the midst of the meeting. It might have been caused by France's advances, Spain's whining, Germany's need to punctuate his words with increased volume, or the fact that Romano felt it was his duty to automatically veto every proposal or contradict every bit of information that passed over the table. At least Japan was silent as he tapped away at the computer keyboard in front of him. The dark-haired nation had hardly spoken a word during any of their gatherings. England appreciated Japan's taciturn nature right now more than anything.

"England? England!" Germany was barking at him again.

Dropping his hands to the arms of his chair, Arthur slumped further into it. He didn't even have the energy to maintain a proper posture. His green eyes angled up to the German from under a mess of blond hair. "I'm sorry. I was out of sorts there for a few minutes. We were discussing the Russian territory, yes?"

Germany nodded. "Japan has finished his comparison between the satellite feed and the map. We now have a clear picture of the entire area."

They had finalized the color-coding across the expanse of Russia. It had taken time pouring over the photographs from the satellite images to gain a clear picture of the devastation. As they worked over the images, the shading on the map had been carefully adjusted to match the new information. With the photographic evidence, a clearer picture of Russia had emerged.

Arthur smirked faintly. Patches of that snowy wasteland had somehow managed to avoid the onslaught. Perhaps it had been too cold for even the bombs to tolerate? It was as though their former Russian friend was spiting them from beyond the mortal coil. So like Ivan.

They'd already performed this process days ago across the expanse of Asia, of Africa. America had left an impressive crater where the Middle East used to be. It spoke much to the strength of the superpower. Viewing it on the map, it was as if the entity of the United States had grown to some giant beast, and with its mighty thumb it had crushed an entire series of countries into a smear of dirt on the Earth.

Or maybe it had always just been that massive creature.

_Alfred. Do you even fathom how tremendously frightening you truly are? All of this destruction made possible at the press of a button._

France stepped in front of the map, obscuring Arthur's view. The Frenchman was awestruck. "There is so much empty space, isn't there? As long as I have lived, the world never truly seemed as large to me as it does today. The more discoveries we make, the more work we have to look forward to, non?"

"Empires have risen and fallen. We have all brushed close with the risk of annihilation during our existence." Arthur murmured dully. "As we fall, we rebuild. Granted, this will take some bloody time to fix. I'm not looking forward to it. We will see it done, however, just as we always have."

"Ah, Arthur, mon ami." Francis sneered in his direction. "You sound like an old man, talking that way."

Arthur shifted in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "I am old, you tosser. Though if I am old, that must make you a Methuselah."

"I have pulled up North America." Japan's voice interrupted their impending argument.

Suddenly, Arthur did not feel so tired. He left his chair to reach the other nation's side. Bracing a hand on the top of Japan's chair, England leaned in to get a look at what the satellites showed.

His eyes lingered on Canada first. There was a pair of black circles on the nation's surface – one far northeast, the other one spreading across the border between Alaska and its neighboring territory. Alaska was a smear, a black blemish clinging to the otherwise unscathed expanse of Canada. _Thank God for Matthew that the damage wasn't too bad. Only two hits._

Alaska, however… .._49..._

Arthur took his time as his eyes passed down the map. America was large – so very large. The Englishman made it a point to touch his eyes down every one of those states, so misshapen in their design – but then again, they had been designed and re-designed by a fickle leader who knew nothing about finesse.

Arthur knew the name of the states. Alfred bragged about them all the time.

Hawaii, Washington, Oregon, California. ..._48, 47, 46, 45..._

New Mexico, Texas. ..._44, 43…_

The spread of black had eaten parts of Nevada, parts of Arizona. ..._42, 41..._

Forty-one. Just down to 41? Alfred was going to need a new number for his jacket.

"What a shame – poor America." France lamented from beside him. "He had worked so hard, you remember? So hard to push his country as far to the west as it would allow. I doubt he will be pleased when he hears that Russia's bombs wiped out his western front."

"I'm sure that he already knows." Japan pointed out. "Just as we knew exactly where the bombs fell when they hit. America must already be aware of the extent of the damage. He is not that oblivious no matter how hard he pretends to be."

"Russia didn't pull any punches with America, that's for sure." Germany said darkly. "At least he had the courtesy to spare most of us the nuclear missiles. He must have sent over half of them to America."

"I am surprised that America's injuries are not more severe, given the circumstances." Francis mused. "What say you, Arthur?"

England looked away from the monitor. "Eh? What?"

"America's injuries. They seem so mild for this much damage."

Arthur tensed, uncomfortable. "Yes. Yes, of course. Ah, it must be due to his strength. America is quite the powerhouse. This is probably nothing to him. There is still so much of the nation untouched, and he is of such a considerable size."

"True." France tapped a long finger against his chin. The Frenchman murmured. "Estonia did give him an examination, oui? I am sure that the Baltic would have let us know if there was anything to be worried about with our wild young friend."

Arthur turned away from the Frenchman, just as his pulse began to speed up. Damned France and his observations! "I'm sure that he would. Tell us, that is."

"But what of _Matthieu_?" France deliberately emphasized his own version of the name for the Canadian. Arthur's clenched teeth began to grind at the subtle provocation. "Those injuries of his are so severe, aren't they? My poor boy is bed-ridden!"

"Canada will be fine." Arthur snapped. "Besides, he's not your—"

"You will be welcome to put in your petition for Canada, France." Germany said absently. He and Spain were wrestling the ladder over towards North America on the map to begin their work on coding the nations. When the ladder was settled in place, Ludwig climbed up with his red pen, beginning to shade in the damaged zones. "Though others will also be able to make the same gesture."

Arthur's mouth gaped open. He went to stand beside the ladder, looking up at the German in shock. "You aren't suggesting that Canada be put back under control of another nation, are you? The boy isn't dead, Germany!"

"That is precisely what I am suggesting, England." The German stated gruffly. "Canada may still be alive and in control of his senses, but what of his citizens? If he cannot even walk out of the medical ward, then how could he hope to cross the distance it will take to assist his nation?" Ludwig paused in his shading to glance down at England. "We do not have the time to wait for him to recover from his injuries, England. The world needs us to be stronger than ever. If the process of restoring Canada's lands can be expedited through the intervention of another strong, undamaged nation, than we really have no better option."

Arthur was unable to argue with the points made by the German. He did not like the situation, but Germany had been entirely correct. If they were going to fix the world, then they needed to fix it as quickly as resources would allow them. "America could—"

"America is going to be busy with his own lands." Germany countered. "I can see these images just as well as you, England. I can do the math. We are lucky that America was not as badly injured."

"Y-yes. I suppose we were very.. very fortunate on that count." Nodding weakly, Arthur retreated from the ladder. He dropped back down into the cushion of his chair and let himself sink into the support of it. With a lingering frown, there was nothing more for him to do at the moment except to watch the German spread a wash of red down the entire length of the western coast of the United States.

France was staring at him again, but even that was something that Arthur managed to ignore. Whatever the Frenchman was calculating in that wine-poisoned mind of his, it had nothing to do with him. England's only real concern was puzzling out what in the hell he was going to tell America.

* * *

Hours later, Arthur finally managed to track America down. He had gone to the nation's room first, then to the medical ward when he had discovered that Alfred wasn't there. Arthur had been unable to meet Canada's eyes as he questioned the younger nation about where Alfred had gone. Matthew had told him that his brother had gone off to the observation decks on the higher floors of the complex. ("To pretend to enjoy the view, I guess. That idiot.")

Arthur stepped out into the cool breeze of the French sunset. It had been another beautiful day that he had missed while locked up inside a conference room. The Englishman walked along the ridge, glancing into the distance beyond the rail to where the ships were pulling in and out of the harbor. It was encouraging to see. The world was still trying to carry on with business as usual in the face of adversity.

Coming around the corner, he saw America standing against the railing. Arthur slowed to a stop, taking a moment just to study the American, to take some time to sort out what he intended to tell the other nation.

America had a hip cocked against the rail, arms folded across his chest, sunglasses hanging limply between his fingers. He'd found a shirt somewhere to button up over all those bandages, the shade of it paler than his eyes. Eyes that were shut right now, as America's face elevated up into the sun and the sky. The sunlight was bathing his face, the breeze ruffling through his careless mop of hair. It was if he were drinking in those elements like they were nourishment. For all that Arthur knew they might very well have been. Just as England loved his fog and dependable rain, America loved his sun and sprawling blue skies.

Arthur cleared his throat to gain the other nation's attention. Alfred did not open his eyes, nor did he turn his face away from the world, but he did smile upon hearing the noise. When he spoke to the Englishman, his voice had a distant, dreaming quality that Arthur did not recognize. "Hey, England?"

"Yes, America?" Interesting. This strange version of America was feeling formal.

"I was just standing here, thinking."

Arthur fisted both hands upon his hips, cocking his head curiously. "Oh? Entertaining another notion involving large robots?"

"No. Not today, anyway." Alfred murmured. His eyelids cracked open halfway, unable to see the view ahead of him.

Yet Arthur saw in those mottled depths that America was thinking intensely. This was new. He was used to the hyperactive, spastic nature of the other nation. To see Alfred looking like a thoughtful young man threw him for a loop. America had not been this way since he had been a boy, observing the world around him with eyes that had always been too sharp for his youth. "All right then. I'm game. What were you thinking, America?"

"I was thinking about how different I want things to be in the future. It would be easy now, wouldn't it, to make changes going forward? It's like we're starting over from scratch. Some of us, anyway." Alfred sighed. "I was thinking about what you said, about the other nations blaming me for this? I tried to decide how I would make things better between all of us. How I would try to make it up to them – make it up to you."

America's face finally turned his direction, those blank eyes peering right through where Arthur was standing. Alfred's smile drained away. "I'm not much of a hero, am I? Heroes don't destroy the world."

Arthur strode over to stand in front of the other nation, eyes lifting to study the American's somber face. "No. No, I suppose they don't."

"So I can't be a hero. Not right now. Not until I make things right." Alfred raised a hand up beside him, fingers curling over to clench into a fist. "I have to make amends for what happened. For what I caused."

"Alfred.." England began, interrupted by Alfred pressing the fingers of that upraised hand against his mouth to quiet him. Though with the other nation's blind status, it was more like a clumsy smack on his nose.

"Sorry." The American apologized with a wince as Arthur swore at the impact. "Just – let me finish, okay? I need to get this off my chest before my head explodes."

"I'm listening." Arthur said nasally, rubbing his sore nose to ease that sting.

Alfred looked away. "I want to rebuild the world. I want to make it ten times better than it was before this madness. My eyes are blind but for the first time, I am seeing things clearer than ever." He stretched his arm out ahead of him, hand swinging up to cover the sun. The American's fingers spread out, causing the rays to deflect off his fingers in a brilliant display of light. "I want – no, I _need – _to reclaim that dream I used to have. That ideal picture that I had of how I would shape my world to be. When the concepts of 'liberty' and 'freedom' were more than a forgotten footnote in the page of my daily life."

"I got so distracted these last decades. The Cold War with Russia, all that business with Korea and Vietnam. I know that the patriotism is still there – I felt it again, for a little while, after that day in September all those years ago. That was nice; it was like I was back there in 1776 again, with all the hearts of my people pulling together under a common cause. Then there was more war, more distractions, and I even started to ignore when they stopped paying me much thought."

"Arthur.. England. I don't want to lose sight of it again. That dream. It may be true that right now I can't see anything in front of me – but I can sure as hell imagine what I want it to be." America dropped his arm back to his side, wearing a sage smile that made the sum of his years seem far greater than ever. "I want to go back there, England. Back to the time when just a dream and an ideal were worth fighting for. Worth dying for. I want to go back to a time when I could be proud of myself."

The American's words left the older nation speechless. Arthur could only stare at him. He had never heard America speak in such a manner for a very long time. That impassioned speech was so much like the old Alfred that time seemed to reverse itself for an instant - overlaying the pleading face of a young colony over the seasoned nation before him. Arthur realized that he should probably say something, his voice huskier than he thought it would be. "That's an admirable goal, America."

"Ha!" The American grinned, prodding at his ribs, and that sloppy smile was enough to shatter the illusion for England's eyes. "Though I might decide that giant robots _would_ be the best means to get there."

Arthur glared up at him. "Oh, don't start that. I was feeling rather impressed by your words just now. Entertained the thought that maybe I had erred in my judgment of you – that perhaps I hadn't gone completely wrong with raising you. Don't make me have wasted the spent emotion."

Alfred didn't respond to the other nation's harsh words. He slid the sunglasses back up over his eyes to shield them, before he hunched forward to rest his forearms on the railing, that goofy smile shrinking into one that looked better on his face. "I take it that you came to find me for a reason?"

"I did." England glanced hurriedly around them. He wasn't sure why he would feel paranoid enough to do so, dismissing it as just an old, unshakeable habit. Closing the distance, Arthur came to stand next to America so that their shoulders were touching. "I have some news. There have been developments. We managed to map out the extent of the damage across the globe. They'll probably be holding another mass conference with all the nations tomorrow."

"That's great! I'm curious to see what they decide. I hope that Japan gets to help with the other Asian countries – it would probably mean a lot to him. You know how much he enjoys fixing things."

Arthur nodded absently. He reached his hand to rest on top of Alfred's forearm. "There is something that I want to tell you. You have to promise me, though, that you won't get upset and explode when you hear it."

America frowned. "Hm. I don't know, Arthur. If it's really bad news, then I can't make any guarantees on how I'll react. Why?"

"Just promise me, Alfred, or else I refuse to tell you."

"Okay!" The American threw his other hand up in surrender. "I promise not to have a conniption fit. Not a major one, anyway. Tell me."

"It's about Canada. Matthew." Arthur wet his lips. "They aren't confident that he will be able to oversee his country until his injuries have healed. Germany has already expressed his intention to enter the territory as available for International assistance."

"Wait. Are you telling me that they're planning to let someone else run Matt's turf?"

"For a time, yes. Nothing permanent." Arthur tightened his grip on the American's arm as he felt the muscles under his hand tensing up. He prevented Alfred from jerking away. "No! You promised. Now listen to me before you blow up, Alfred. Germany made some valid points about the decision. Canada is a large nation. It will take someone with mobility just to be able to handle the day-to-day aspects. Matthew needs time to heal. His people need a leader in the interim."

"Are they even going to bother _asking_ him what he wants to do? I know that Canada is a wallflower, and God knows that sometimes even I forget that he's around – but they should at least give him the respect to allow it to be his decision."

"Someone will have told him by now, I'm sure." Arthur reassured him. "It will ultimately be his choice as to who will be assisting him. I don't think that he would mind having Francis stepping in to help. They still have plenty of affection between them."

Alfred shook his head. "I don't know that I like the idea of France running around in my big backyard. He'd probably come streaking through my neighborhood just to annoy me."

"How do you think I feel? You at least have the luxury of being an entire ocean away from him. He invites himself over regularly to harass me whenever he fancies it."

"My offer still stands with France, you know." Alfred grinned roguishly. "Anytime you decide that you've had enough of him, I will gladly bitch slap that poodle clear to the Mediterranean. Er. Or whatever that water thing is over there – world maps are still a little sketchy."

"Yes, yes. You don't like the 'funny' shapes of other countries." Arthur shook his head. "The excuse seems thin coming from the one who colored his state lines in with crayon."

America looked quickly aside at the same moment that England realized his error in speech. Suppressing a wince, Arthur murmured. "Sorry. That was insensitive of me to say, considering your circumstances."

"It's okay, Arthur." The taller nation shrugged dismissively. "I have my work cut out for me when I get back home. A whole chunk of my nation to tend to."

"Do you.. want to see the images for yourself?"

"No. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. I'll deal with it tomorrow." Alfred said quickly. His smile returned as he swung an arm up around England's shoulders, tugging the other nation to his side. America began to guide Arthur along in that manner. "I'm starving! Let's get something to eat, Arthur! I could go for a Big Mac. They have McDonald's here, too, don't they?"

* * *

Austria felt a vein in his head threaten to burst, as hard as it was pulsing there near his forehead. It was insulting enough that he'd been delegated to the task of monitoring the radio airwaves for any sign of communications beyond Geneva. These idiot nations obviously held the misconception that his finely tuned hearing was appropriate for these matters. Of course they didn't even consider the fact that his ears were tuned towards _music_, and not this aggravating white noise.

But that was hardly the worst of it. He kept his eyes squinted tightly shut in hopes that they might somehow serve as an effective tool for denying the company he'd been assigned. Out of all the individual nations they could have paired him with, Austria found himself stuck with—

"Hey, Roderich! This is so stupid. I should be out using my talents for more important things, instead of having to baby sit you."

Gilbert rocked back in his chair and began nudging the back of Austria's chair with his foot. "Are you listening to me? I said I'm bored!"

"Prussia." Roderich's jaw was sore from having clenched it so long against his irritation. "I am trying to listen. That requires silence on your part. If you are so terribly bored, why don't you just leave? I am capable enough of handling such a simple task on my own. In fact – your absence would make me all the more capable."

"I can't do that." Gilbert snorted derisively. "Those idiots assigned me to this job. I will see the mission through, because I am simply too awesome to shirk my responsibilities."

Austria opened his eyes to stare flatly at the other nation. "Then you should probably put your headphones on. And shut your mouth. And stop kicking my chair!" The Austrian finally snapped, since Gilbert had not stopped rocking his seat with that foot.

Gilbert folded his foot across his opposite knee, lips curled up in mild distaste. "Ugh. You make this no fun, Roderich." The Prussian snatched his abandoned headphones up from the table nearby, thrusting them on over his ears with a dark mutter. "I don't know why I had to get stuck with you."

_Neither do I. _Roderich thought to himself. _They could have put me with Greece, who hardly speaks, or Hungary, who would have at least made the situation more tolerable. _He sighed at his misfortune as he twisted the dial on the radio. "I am switching to broadcast channel two. Please make sure that you are monitoring broadcast channel three, Gilbert."

"I am already light years ahead of you. Silly Austrian." Gilbert chuckled to himself. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest.

At his own station, Austria wondered how long it would take before Prussia got bored with his task again. He began to count the seconds in his head. _One, Two, Three…_

Gilbert threw his headphones off with a loud clatter. "Goddamnit. This is ridiculous!"

…_Seven and Eight. Eight Seconds – a new record. _Austria smirked faintly. "I knew that you wouldn't last long."

"How the hell could I last long? Who wants to sit around and listen to that chirping?" Gilbert brought his hands up and began waggling his fingers in the air, saying mockingly, "'Come in, aru! Respond, aru. Blah, blah-aru.'"

"Wait – what?" Austria's automatic retort changed before he could even finish opening his mouth. "You heard something?"

Gilbert gestured dismissively towards the radio. "Only silly little gibberish."

Roderich stood up quickly from his seat, eyes widening. He hurriedly turned the dial on his radio to that third broadcasting channel to hear for himself what Gilbert claimed to have caught. "Gil-Gilbert! It's a communication. Someone is trying to make contact – it sounds like China."

"It… does?" The Prussian blinked from the Austrian to the radio. He quickly recovered, tossing his head back with a bark of laughter. "I mean, of course it does. It's obviously China, you silly man. Goodness me – you're lucky that I'm here."

Austria ignored the other nation's bragging. He slid the headphones off his ears to address the Prussian. "Gilbert. Go alert Germany immediately. Despite their initial belief, China appears to be alive!"

* * *

A/N: I'll admit it - there isn't much I know about Prussia. But I know that he would consider himself too awesome not to make a cameo in this.


	5. Chapter 5

So far, so good with the momentum on this story. Thank you to those of you who have kindly left your words of encouragement! That has definitely given me motivation to keep myself busy writing.

I'm trying not to weigh the installments down with too many big events happening at once - but it's a difficult balance.

* * *

England trudged back towards his bedroom with sluggish steps. He was having a difficult time maintaining himself through all of this. This schedule really didn't suit him at all. Rising early in the morning, spending the entire day bickering with other nations – they had even refused to break for tea! Arthur rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands to try and wake himself back up a little. It didn't help that he'd just spent the last hour with an energetic American who once again left England feeling baffled as to exactly _how _the other nation could fit _that much _food into his mouth at one time.

The corridor had emptied out for the evening. Most of the nations were already in bed, preparing for the early meeting that they had called for the next day. Arthur turned his wrist over to check the time. If he were lucky, he might actually get five solid hours of sleep. He didn't even bother to stifle his yawn as it poured out of him, reaching towards his pocket to retrieve his room key.

A figure detached itself from the shadows behind him. Arthur's hand altered its trajectory, metal dragging across fabric as he withdrew a pistol from inside of his jacket. He pivoted smoothly on his heels, leveling that barrel at his would-be assailant moments before a reaching hand could grab him. The sound of it being cocked was loud in the corridor. "Touch me and I will kill you."

"Ehhhhhh." Francis backpedaled a step, both hands lifting up in the air as he found that barrel directed between his eyes. He laughed lightly, nervous. "B-Britannia! It's just me, your dear friend France."

"I knew that it was you before I even drew the gun, Francis. Your cologne was offending me from clear across the hall. Now bugger off."

France looked down from England's face, to the gun, then back. "Why don't you put the gun away so that we can talk? You can start the conversation by explaining to me why you are walking around with a gun in the middle of Geneva."

Arthur's scowl didn't subside even though he did back the gun down, sliding it away into his jacket. "Are you joking? This is France. I always stay armed whenever I set foot on French soil, ever since that nonsense with the Suez Canal…"

Francis pouted. "You wound me, mon ami."

"Oh, how I wish." The Englishman sighed. "Look, Francis – I am utterly bleeding spent for the night. I want nothing more than to go to sleep. It has been a long day, I haven't had one single cup of tea, and I've been putting up with bloody America for the past hour and a half. I am cranky at best, murderous at worse, and ready to put the day behind me. Unless you have something of importance to discuss with me, then I suggest that you slink your swishy ass back to your own room before I finally _do_ put a bullet through your head and you spend the next three days spouting wine from the back of your skull."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me." The Frenchman's mouth curled up suggestively. "You're such the little gutter punk when you're tired, mon ami, and it—" He stopped what he was about to say when he heard the muffled sound of Arthur's gun being cocked again. "Okay, okay! I submit. There was a good reason for me coming here to find you. It is in regards to America."

"Alfred? What about him?" Arthur asked shortly. If France was trying to dissuade his foul mood, bringing up the American nation was the worst possible subject.

"On a hunch, I decided to strike up a conversation with dear Estonia today after our meeting." Francis lowered his hands, a mild smirk playing across his mouth. "He is quite handsome, non? A bit more masculine than his reedy Baltic brothers – but I digress! I took it upon myself to check in with him about the situation with Matthieu's health."

Arthur's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Yes? And?"

"We eventually got on the subject of America." The Frenchman's humor bled away. "England. I think that you have not been honest with us, mon ami. Why did you not tell us about America's current impairment?"

The Englishman cursed under his breath, withdrawing his room key with a swift gesture. "This subject is not open to discussion, Francis. I have little doubt that America will manage to overcome this obstacle." He fumbled with the key in the lock. It would have been easier to unlock his door if he had been facing it, but Arthur was never comfortable turning his back on the Frenchman. "If that was all that you had to discuss, Francis, then I do hope that you will excuse me for—"

"Why don't _you_ take America?"

Arthur had wedged his key in the door when the Frenchman spoke. He blinked down at the doorknob. "What?"

"Oui. I already broached the topic with Germany this evening. He and I were of agreement that perhaps you might be the appropriate nation to take control of the United States." France shrugged lightly. "Of course, I could be wrong. Perhaps you are not up to the task? I am sure that one of the other nations might take some delight in taking over the reins of that problematic country."

"America is not on the table for negotiation." Arthur stated firmly. "I would certainly advise against any of you bringing up the notion to Alfred, either. He has made it abundantly clear that he has no desire to relinquish the duties of his territory to anyone else."

"We shall see. I suppose proving that capability will be up to America tomorrow, non?" Francis waved a hand breezily through the air. "Anyway, that is all I came to discuss. As much as I would love to offer you a warm bedmate for tonight, I cherish my lovemaking tools right where they belong. Adieu, England!"

"F-Francis, get back here. Goddamnit! FRANCIS!"

* * *

Alfred knew that he was late. It had been a clumsy fiasco just to get dressed for the meeting. He had scrounged up a suit from outside of the complex to look more presentable. His torn up jeans were perhaps a bit too casual for serious business matters. If he were going to make his opinions heard today, then he needed to look like he knew what he was talking about. It didn't help that he couldn't get his tie on straight. The buttons had given his fingers some trouble getting them lined up correctly. If he could actually _see_ what he was doing, getting ready would probably have gone smoother.

He nearly ran right past the doors to the conference room. Skidding to a stop so fast that he slid another foot on his slick dress shoes, Alfred slapped a hand onto the door's handle and yanked it open with a quick gulp of air. "Sorry that I'm late, everyone! We can start the meeting… now."

Alfred pushed his sunglasses further up on his face with a languid blink. Where there should have been a whole bunch of nations, he found himself only facing a few key individuals. Germany was standing at the foot of the table staring at him with a strange expression. France was nearby the German, a fist resting on a stack of documents, glancing slowly up at the door as America came in.

"Um. Did I miss the meeting? I didn't think that I was that late."

"Come inside and close the door, mon ami." France told him. "We had to postpone the meeting until later. There are some matters that must be discussed ahead of time."

"Sure thing." Shutting the door behind him as directed, Alfred slid his hands into his pockets. Something was off with the vibe in the room – it was so strong that even _he_ could sense it for a change. He peeked towards the other nations in the room to see if they might give him a clue.

England was seated in his place at the table, sitting so stiffly that he looked like a woodcarving. His face was locked into a bland mask, green eyes fixed so intently on the table in front of him that Alfred wondered if one of his imaginary friends were hypnotizing the nation. Japan nodded to him politely – offering him nothing, before the Asian nation returned to peering at his computer screen. The Italian brothers were strangely absent from the gathering. Only Matthew truly acknowledged him. He smiled faintly at his brother from where he sat in his wheelchair at the table. Alfred propped a hand on his hip, shifting his weight to one side. "Wow. Did somebody die?"

"No." Germany shook his head. "On the contrary – we were just discussing the fact that we received a transmission from China late last night. It would appear that, somehow, he managed to survive having a mass of nuclear missiles dropped on him."

"That's great news!" America said brightly. "So all we have to do is fly on over there and pick him up, right?"

"Unfortunately, that is impossible." Japan stated quietly. "In the aftermath of the attacks, the entire continent of Asia has become a strict no-fly zone. Based on the reports that I have received from officials back home, military groups within Russia and throughout Asia have been shooting down all aircraft that pass within their zone."

Alfred scowled. He placed both hands down on the table in front of him. "What? You've got to be kidding me! That's absolutely nuts."

Japan looked up at the American over the top of his computer screen. "It isn't, really. There was just a massive worldwide attack, both upon them and their neighbors. Their paranoia seems justified – all that they are doing is protecting themselves, even if it is a radical approach."

"It would seem that China is unable to come to us, as well." Germany explained, glancing towards the map on the wall. "He is holed up somewhere in the middle of a nuclear field. Our communications were limited. We don't know why he cannot leave his homeland. It is frustrating."

"We can't just leave him out there!" Alfred protested. "There must be some solution. I'm sure that if we put our heads together, we can think of a way to get him out of there. I mean – being in a nuclear area isn't totally terrible. Sure, it itches a lot, and the ash tastes terrible – but it is hardly enough to kill one of us."

Matthew's mouth fell ajar. "How do you know what it's like to be in a nuclear area?"

"Dude. We tested the atom bomb for years in the United States." The American shrugged as if it were no big deal. "I took a stroll through the live areas when they were done – just for kicks, you know? It wasn't too bad. Cloudy, uncomfortable. I wouldn't want to set up a nice little homestead there, let's just put it that way."

"Wang Yao's predicament is only one part of our concerns." France said abruptly, fixing Alfred with a pointed look. "America, mon ami, would you do a favor for dear Francis?"

"Uh, sure, France. What do you need?"

"Could you kindly take off those sunglasses of yours?"

The American no longer looked amicable. His hands slid off the table, fingers curling up into loose fists at his sides. "Why? It's not like they should be bothering you."

France chuckled quietly, though there was no humor to it. "Just remove them, America."

"I really don't feel like it, Fra—"

"Take off the bloody sunglasses, Alfred!" England suddenly snapped harshly, his voice filling the room. His face twisted bitterly for an instant before it settled back into that stoic façade.

Alfred looked in the other nation's direction. England refused to even look his way. The American swallowed thickly, then nodded. "Fine. I… fine. Whatever." He swiftly yanked the sunglasses off of his face, mottled eyes glaring towards the faint outlines of their hazy figures. "There. Happy now?" Alfred tossed them onto the tabletop with a clatter.

"Not really." Germany answered gruffly, the first of them to break the silence. "You should have told us about this, America. We – your comrades – deserved to know the truth. Had we been aware of the extent of your injuries from the beginning, we would have been able to adjust our plans accordingly."

"My injuries are nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing to worry about." Alfred glowered back at the German.

"Oh? We beg to differ, mon ami." France said while shaking his head. He pointed towards the map on the wall. "Can you even point out to us where China _is_, America? And none of your humorous American ignorance – that act is tiresome anyhow. Why don't you tap it with your finger? You are so very tall that it shouldn't be hard to reach, non? Please, be my guest."

The American's fists tightened at his sides, clenching. He did not budge from his spot, chin elevating proudly as he stared flatly back at the older nation. France finally nodded as if his thoughts had been confirmed, sighing. "Oui. So it is as bad as we heard. In that case, we must rethink our plans. Germany?"

Ludwig folded his arms in front of him. "America. In light of this development, your fellow nations are left with no other choice but to add the United States to the list of countries that will be receiving international oversight."

"I refuse."

"And given the massive size of the land, it will require a nation with some experience to successfully manage it while you are recovering from your injuries." The German continued on without acknowledging America's declaration. "Your homeland will require a firm, steady hand to guide it forward. It is a complex operation. Preferably someone who already has some knowledge of how things work in your territory."

"Did you not hear me? I said no." Alfred snapped hotly.

"We took a vote before you arrived. Everyone was in agreement that England would be best suited to the task."

Alfred was stunned to silence. He cast a wild look at England, but the older nation was still impassive. Then his head dropped forward, chin thumping against his chest. He started to laugh quietly. "Whoa. Okay. You guys had me going there for a minute." Raising his face back up, he smirked at the German. "That was kinda funny. Sort of. Well.. no. Actually, it wasn't that funny, but still. Good one."

"I don't tell jokes, America." Germany said coolly. "Will you accept our decision or not?"

"Of course I won't." Alfred's arm cut through the air in front of him to dismiss the suggestion, volume stretching towards a shout. "I don't need anyone else interfering with my land. I am America. I will rebuild my country. And I don't need England, France or any other European trying to tell me how to do things. You can all keep your damned noses out of my business!"

"Alfred…" Matthew said in quiet sympathy. He looked worriedly between his brother and the other nations. The Canadian decided that it was best to keep silent while the more powerful nations held their verbal battle.

"I'm afraid that we cannot do that, America-san." Japan said gently. "Even before the attack, your country was not in the best condition. The damage to your western states is considerable. I wouldn't hesitate to suggest that even if you had no injuries, the task of stabilizing your homeland would be too large a task for you to manage alone. This is no different than Canada-san's situation."

"I'm not Canada." Alfred said in his defense. "I am the United States of America. I pull off the impossible on a daily basis!"

"We are not impressed by your bravado, America." Germany shook his head. "We are unconvinced that you are capable of seeing this done. It is a chance that none of us are comfortable with taking."

Alfred's eyes darted around the air in front of him, the American quickly wetting his lips. He perked up with an idea. "What if I _can_ prove it to you? If I show that I am capable of the impossible, will that convince you guys to drop all this nonsense?"

"I don't see how. There isn't much that you can do." Ludwig shrugged.

"What if I go rescue China?" Alfred looked towards the German's broad figure, eyebrows lifting.

France was bewildered as he regarded the American. "You? Get China? You are blind, America. There is no way that you could pull off such a feat, inflated ego or not."

Alfred shook his finger in the Frenchman's direction. "You're right. Exactly. There is no way in hell that I _should_ be able to pull it off – but what if I _did_?" He slapped his hands back down on the table and said a silent prayer that he didn't sound as desperate as he felt. "Look. You guys like to negotiate, right? Okay, so let's negotiate. Let's make a deal!"

"America, this is—" France began, though he shut his mouth when Germany held up a hand to quiet him.

"Let's hear this proposal of yours, America."

* * *

"Did you know?"

Alfred sat in his chair, knees pulled up to his chest and braced against the table. He had been staring blankly at his sunglasses where they sat. Even when he spoke, the American did not look away from them as he addressed the other nation still seated a few chairs down.

"Francis made a mention of it last night. They voted this morning while you were still in bed." Arthur said quietly. He raised his eyes to flicker over the map across from him with a small sigh. "You must believe me, Alfred, when I say that I did not intend for things to work out this way. It's all gone utterly pear-shaped."

"It could be worse. They could have turned down my proposal."

Arthur glowered over in his direction, finally facing the American. "Your 'proposal' is quite daft. Do you mean to tell me that you truly intend to go traveling across the nuclear wasteland of Russia in an attempt to rescue China, completely blind and with absolutely no idea where you are going? For God's sake, Alfred – you can't even navigate around the city here!"

"I said I'd do it. I have to do it. It's the only way to show them that I still have what it takes to get the job done." Alfred murmured, pressing the tip of his thumb against his lips as he went over plans in his head. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen? I get lost?"

"Or you could find your end in the middle of nowhere!" Arthur snapped at him. "Are you completely out of your sodding mind, Alfred F. Jones? There is no way in hell that this will work!"

"It has to work, Arthur. I don't have a choice." Unfolding his limbs, the American eased out of his chair. "You can't try to talk me out of going. It's the only option that I've got left."

"Alfred..."

"Sorry. I'd like to stay and chat a little while longer, Arthur, but I need to start gathering supplies for the trip. Toris offered to fly me up to Lithuania, since it is the last territory in the region that is outside of the restricted flight zone. I'll be able to head through Russia from there."

"Please don't go through with this madness." Arthur pleaded to the other nation. The American stepped over beside his chair, forcing the Englishman's head to tilt backwards. "Please, I'm begging you. This isn't worth the risk, Alfred. I can try to persuade them to change their minds on this whole business with your country."

Alfred laughed softly. He took hold of Arthur with both hands on either side of the Englishman's face. Bending down, the American pressed his lips to Arthur's forehead, right above his eyebrows. "Don't worry so much. You'll get wrinkles."

The tender gesture spawned a spread of color across Arthur's cheeks. Belatedly, he raised his hands up to cover the American's, but they were already withdrawing from their position on his head. Arthur looked back up to Alfred just as the American winked at him. "See you later, Arthur."

Alfred walked to the door without even bothering to retrieve the sunglasses from the table. He stepped out into the hallway beyond, leaving Arthur to slump even deeper in his chair. Arthur brought his hands up to fuss roughly through his hair in frustration before simply resting them over his face with a throaty sigh. "Bloody Americans..."

* * *

Fortunately enough, Alfred discovered that he wasn't going to have to go through the chore of preparing for his adventure by himself. Matthew had been waiting for him outside of the conference room. The Canadian offered to assist Alfred in gathering all the supplies that he would need for a voyage through frozen Russian wilderness. They had gone to a nearby shop in the city intended for outdoorsmen and sports enthusiasts.

Alfred pushed his brother's wheelchair throughout the aisles as directed, leaving everything up to Matthew. It wasn't as though he could even see well enough to pick out what he needed, judge its quality, and decide what to take or what to leave. Grudgingly, he had to admit that Matthew was a bit of an expert on the subject of surviving in the middle of some frozen tundra.

That, and Alfred really didn't speak much French.

"Wait – stop here." Matthew directed him. Alfred brought the chair to a stop beside a display counter that looked stocked up with enough weapons to fend off a French zombie apocalypse. The Canadian pushed himself up gingerly from the wheelchair, a hand on the counter to keep steady as Matthew bent to peruse the selection.

"Hm. These wouldn't be bad to have. I wish I had my equipment from back home. We are going to need to buy so much stuff." Matthew looked over at the American with a small smile. "Go get a cart. I'll wait here and deal with the clerk, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred turned away from where his brother was drooling over an arsenal and returned to the front of the store. He nearly collided with a woman, apologized for it, then realized that it was actually just a mannequin on display. His humiliation seemed endless today.

When he returned with a cart, Matthew was speaking in rapid-fire French to a man behind the counter. The Canadian had a large hunting knife in his hand. Alfred watched as Matthew twisted it from side to side, checking the sharpness and precision of the blade. Soon the Canadian nodded in satisfaction and held up four fingers. _"Quatre, s'il vous plait."_

"Wow. You don't mess around when it comes to getting armed, do you Matt?" Alfred laughed.

"It's better to be overly prepared than to be under prepared." Matthew responded with a shrug. He was already moving on to the next weapon. The clerk passed over a crossbow to the Canadian. Matthew was checking the line of sight, squinting an eye shut as he fired off the empty weapon. Something about it apparently did not meet his expectations. He set it back down on the counter and gestured towards another model. This one was fired as well. Matthew studied the crossbow, hefting its weight to test it, before nodding again. "Okay. This one. The recoil isn't as bad."

"Ah ha. Ha… ha." Alfred eyed his brother cautiously. "Um. I'm not going to go hunting moose. I doubt I'll need the crossbow."

Matthew raised a hand, absently waving him off, too distracted by the weapons to pay him much attention. "That's nice, Alfred. Why don't you go find some boots or something? I'll be another few minutes."

"But I… uh… okay." The American said, feeling lame. He slumped a little as Matthew went back to ignoring him. Something about this situation felt completely wrong!

Alfred spent some time pretending to browse. He ended up in the sports section, staring blankly up at the skis. Could he ski across all of Russia? Maybe if he got some tiny rockets to attach to the back of them? The American tapped his chin thoughtfully as his brain conjured images of him coasting across the winter landscape of Russia on a pair of rocket-powered skis.

Matthew came wheeling up next to him in the aisle. His brother glanced up to the skis, then scowled at Alfred. "No. No skis. And if you tell me that you were trying to figure out how to attach rockets to them, I swear that I will get up out of this chair and dropkick you in the head."

"Am I that obvious?"

"I'm sad to say that I know a little about how your brain works. And it hurts me inside, Alfred."

"Okay. I guess no skis, then." Looking past his brother, Alfred gawked at the cart full of items that Matthew had pulled along behind him. "How the hell am I going to carry all of that?"

Matthew huffed. "Believe it or not, Alfred, all of this stuff can be packed rather easily into a manageable duffel bag." He gestured towards the cart. "I have items for hunting, shelter construction, water filtration, and first aid. The handguns and ammunition will be protection against wild animals and hostile military radicals. The clothes are for wearing, obviously."

Alfred picked up a pair of heavy-duty boots from the cart, noting that there was a second pair just underneath. "I can't wear two pairs of boots, Matt."

"You won't be."

"So I'll be carrying them as backup?"

"No. I'll be wearing them."

Alfred felt like he missed something. "What?"

"I'm going with you." Matthew stated.

"You can't go with me, Matt." Alfred shook his head, rubbing a knuckle against his forehead. He was getting a headache. "It's going to be very dangerous. The journey is going to be long and difficult. In fact, the other nati—" Alfred looked around them quickly, remembering that they were in public. "The other _guys _probably think that I'll just end up lost in the middle of nowhere. I wouldn't put it past them to be _hoping_ for it. It would solve their problem. Besides, you can barely walk."

"You can barely see, but you're going through with it." Matthew pointed out. He sighed. "Alfred, look. I can't just sit back and let you do this all alone. You need me to get through this. I'll be your eyes and you can be my legs when the pain gets too bad. It won't be all that easy to do but if we work together than I am sure that we can accomplish something as major as this."

"Matthew..."

"No, no." The Canadian waved him to silence with both hands. "Let me talk. I never... I never get to talk. I never feel brave enough. But you need to hear this and I need to say it, okay?" He drew a deep breath to steady his nerves, already feeling them fraying under the weight of America's stare. "I... I need to do this. I need to help you. There have been opportunities in the past when I could have – should have – helped you out, but I didn't. I was always too meek and mild to keep up with you and your problems."

Matthew blinked innocently up at his brother. "You need me. You won't make it on your own out there, Alfred. You can barely tolerate even visiting Alaska because you think it's too cold. I know how to make a journey like this. I know how to survive in a place like Russia. I know what to do and what not to do. I know how to—"

He stopped when Alfred reached over and grabbed hold of his shoulders. Alfred squeezed them gently, voice soft. "I get it, Matthew. Stop tossing out all these reasons, okay?" He took his hands back to prop on his hips, smirking down at the Canadian. "You had me at 'Alaska'. Get your damned boots and scary weapons. Get whatever you think we're going to need. But don't say that I didn't warn you later what we're getting into."

Matthew's brain took a few seconds to catch up to the fact that Alfred had just agreed with him. The Canadian smiled sweetly. "Okay, Alfred. Thank you."

* * *

Toris was waiting for them on the helipad the next morning when they arrived. The Lithuanian smiled warmly at Alfred as the American reached him, briefly clasping the hand that Alfred offered his way. "It's good to see you. I'll be flying with you to the border. I already got in contact with my officials back home so that they are not alarmed by us flying into the territory."

"I appreciate that!" Alfred said sincerely. He glanced back to where Matthew still sat in his wheelchair, the Canadian holding both their duffel bags on his lap. "We'll probably need to grab some more supplies before we trek into Russia."

"Don't worry. I've already let them know." Toris nodded as he turned with the North American brothers to head towards the waiting helicopter. "They will provide you with anything that you need for your journey. We are all very impressed at your intention to rescue China."

Alfred shrugged. "It needs to be done. Who better to ride in to the rescue than me?"

"I admire your spirit." Toris had to shout over the sound of the motors as the helicopter started. The blades began to turn over the tops of their heads, causing their hair and clothes to whip in the sudden onslaught of air. The Lithuanian pulled hard on the door of the helicopter to slide it open.

Alfred took the duffel bags from Matthew, tossing them into the back of the helicopter. Being a multi-passenger aircraft, there was more than enough room to accommodate them all comfortably along with their cargo. Matthew stood up unsteadily from his wheelchair and began to collapse it down for better storage. He gave it over to Alfred as the American finished stowing their stuff.

As Alfred helped to boost his brother up into the helicopter, the American glanced back in the direction of the complex. He hadn't even bothered to give anyone a proper farewell. While it was true that Alfred was pissed off at most of them for having made him resort to this act, he couldn't shake that guilt. He should have at least said goodbye to England. _Hell._ Arthur was going to give him a lecture when he got back on being an insufferable, insensitive, 'in-_whatever_' nation.

Matthew had already settled into his seat. The Canadian was belted in, adjusting the headphones on his head that would allow them to communicate over the sound of the helicopter. He had taken a spot next to the opposite window so that he could watch the landscape below them. It occurred to Alfred that his brother had probably never seen this much of Europe as they were about to see on this flight. He hadn't seen that much of it either. Stealing his brother's idea, Alfred sat right next to the door, dragging it firmly shut behind him after he'd climbed inside.

He fumbled with the belt until it clicked securely and reached up for his own headset. Toris was speaking to the pilot in their native tongue, providing the man with instructions for their flight. His voice was tinny over the headsets. He switched flawlessly over to English with a look back at the two brothers. "Okay, we're ready. We will be stopping at a few points during the trip to refuel. You are both welcomed to sit back and enjoy the view. It's a great time of the year to enjoy the scenery of Europe!"

Alfred flashed him both thumbs up. The helicopter's engine whined loudly as the pilot prepared for takeoff. He could feel the rumble of it underneath his feet. Flying never got any less exciting for the American. His nation had been the one to invent it, after all! He glanced towards Matthew, but his brother did not look nearly as comfortable as he himself felt. Alfred grinned. "Here we go, Matt! This'll be fun."

The pilot abruptly spoke. Alfred couldn't understand what he'd said. He was able to see Toris respond, though. The Lithuanian twisted in his seat up in the co-pilot's chair, searching back and forth out the windows. Alfred spoke into his microphone. "Is there a problem with the helicopter, Toris?"

"No. It was tested thoroughly, I promise. The pilot said that there is someone running towards us on the helipad." Toris' voice fed back to him. "Did either of you forget to bring something?"

"I didn't." Matthew said over the line. "Everything should be here. I packed it all myself."

Alfred frowned in confusion. If none of them had forgotten anything, then why the hell would someone be running towards their helicopter? The engines protested as the pilot eased up on the controls, rotors slowing their rotation as it went on standby. Alfred turned his head towards the door as it abruptly slid back open.

It was Arthur. Unexpectedly Arthur.

The Englishman was winded from having run all the way to their helicopter. He bent forward to try and reclaim some of his breath, dropping a duffel bag onto the tarmac. His hair was a mess, face slick with sweat from his exertion. However, he managed to recover from being doubled over in a timely manner, hands braced on the front of his legs. Arthur lifted his head, looking up at Alfred from under a few locks of pale hair. Looked up at him and glared.

And _glared_.

Alfred waved at the Englishman, clueless. He had to shout at him over the noise. "Hey, England! Sorry that you made the run out here, but that bag doesn't belong to us. We already have ours stowed in the back."

The American grunted as Arthur hefted up that same duffel bag only to promptly chuck it at his face. Alfred was dazed as his head managed to absorb most of the impact. He scrambled to push the bag out of his face in order to yell at England. "What the hell was that for? Did you not hear me? I just said that we don't need the extra bag!"

"Budge up, you stupid Yankee!" Arthur shouted back over the noise.

"Do what to myself?"

"_Move over_!" The Englishman yelled with emphasis. Arthur was already climbing up into the helicopter, pulling himself inside with one of the overhead handles.

Alfred's brain was too numb to fully register what was happening. He simply complied with the directive, releasing his belts in order to slide into the next seat over. It finally clicked for him only after Arthur had hauled the door shut again and the Englishman started belted himself in. Alfred leaned towards the other man to shout. "What are you doing?"

One of Arthur's eyes shifted his way, the green quite striking due to his anger. The Englishman pointed to his headset then slid it into place over his head. Alfred followed suit, just in time to hear Arthur's voice on the line. "Someone has to take responsibility for your welfare. I had thought Matthew at least would have had brains enough not to take part in such a foolish endeavor, but it would appear that you are both utterly deranged. Being the responsible, mature nation that I am, I have no other choice than to accompany you gits through this fiasco."

Arthur made a gesture to the pilot to indicate that he was ready. Then they were lifting upwards into the sky, their helicopter readily transporting supplies, two uncomfortable Lithuanians, one stunned Canadian, an equally stunned American, and one incredibly pissed off Englishman. Alfred risked a peek back in Arthur's direction, pulling the microphone aside as he leaned in to speak into the other nation's ear. "You didn't have to do this. Come on this adventure of ours."

"Yes, I did." Arthur responded. "Now stop shouting in my ear and just let me enjoy the flight. We can have it out when we land."

* * *

A/N: I hope that my use of line breaks between segments isn't annoying. ...kolkolkol...


	6. Chapter 6

The adventure begins! And it's all downhill from here. I'm probably pacing the romantic aspect of this thing terribly. It wouldn't be an easy adjustment, right? ...Right?

* * *

For the life of him, Alfred still couldn't figure out how it had all come to this. They had finally touched down in Lithuania after a lengthy, tense flight that seemed to stretch endlessly on. Arthur refused to speak him the entire trip. As badly as Alfred expected the voyage to go, having an unhappy England on his hands was destined to make it that much worse. He tried to make some peace between them. Alfred had even politely grabbed up England's duffel bag with the intention to carry it for him.

Then Arthur merely snatched it out of his grip without a word, stalking after Toris into the lodge that would shelter them for the night. Matthew lowered himself carefully down out of the helicopter with a glance between the departing Englishman and his brother. "Um. What did you do to make him mad this time?"

"I have no idea." Baffled, Alfred decided just to grab their belongings off the helicopter. It wasn't at all laborious for him to juggle both duffel bags in one arm. "I guess I'll have time to ask him about it, though, since he appears to be coming with us."

Matthew slapped a hand to his face, sliding it slowly down its surface. "Oh God. This is just getting worse and worse." He then began to hobble forward towards the lodge, features strained.

The Canadian was quickly scooped up in Alfred's unoccupied arm. Matthew gave a small cry of alarm as he found himself being jostled into the air, hands clapping down on Alfred's shoulder to prevent falling over. "Al-Alfred! I can walk to the lodge."

"I know that. But there's no reason not to take it easy tonight, you know? You will have plenty of walking to do tomorrow, so don't push yourself, Matt."

Matthew's entire face had gone scarlet. He tried very hard not to catch the eye of any of the Lithuanians that milled around them. It was cold out, it was getting dark, and if Alfred was determined to do something then Matthew did not want to bother wasting time with an argument. So he let himself get hauled into the lodge like a sack of potatoes and tried not to die of embarrassment.

Alfred lowered him down to his feet once they were inside. Lithuania was speaking animatedly to the employees. Arthur had taken to leaning against the wall beside the check-in counter. He was watching the people moving around with a sullen expression. Matthew sat down heavily in one of the chairs stationed nearby as they waited for Toris to finish handling their arrangements for the evening.

Lithuania returned to them with a bright smile. "All right, I have our room assignments. Matthew, you and I will be bunking together tonight. Alfred, you will be with Arthur."

The American looked horrified. "Uhhh – maybe you can bunk with Arthur, Toris? I'm fine sleeping with Matthew. Or on the floor down here. Or... anywhere else, for that matter."

Arthur roused himself from his brooding silence. "Nonsense. The arrangements are just fine. Don't be ungrateful, you spoiled American."

"I'm not being—" Alfred clamped his mouth shut with a scowl. Anything else he might say could end up being used against him. If he was going to survive the night then he needed to watch his words.

Arthur turned to Toris with a polite smile. "Thank you for your assistance, Toris. I am grateful for your help on this matter."

"It's no trouble, Arthur. Truly." Toris shrugged. "I'm just glad that I can be of service for a good cause."

Arthur picked up his duffel bag. "If we are intending to make an early morning's start, I should retire to my room. There is nothing like a good night's sleep to leave a man invigorated for a morning hike." He gave Toris a companionable pat on the back, took his key from the other nation, and disappeared up the stairs.

The other three nations watched him go, before exchanging knowing looks. Toris was sympathetic. "He seems quite unhappy to be here. I don't understand what motivated him to join you on your journey. Arthur doesn't seem the type to enjoy hiking through the wilderness."

"I'm sure that he intends to tell me. I'll probably get an ear full the minute I step into the room." Alfred groaned out. He looked quickly towards Matthew. "Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?"

Matthew shook his head. "No. I'm too tired to eat. Flying like that always wipes me out. I think Arthur actually had the right idea. I'll probably head up to bed now myself." He eased out of his chair and took his own key from Toris, walking stiffly towards the stairs. Alfred's mouth opened, predictably to ask if he needed help, and the Canadian waved him back to silence. "I can handle the stairs. If we're going to be hiking through mountains then I need to get used to this particular type of pain. Goodnight, you two."

Toris waved after Matthew. "What about you, Alfred? Are you hungry? I am sure I can get the kitchen staff to prepare something for you, despite the late hour."

"That depends." The American looked away from the stairs with a hopeful grin. "Do the chefs here know how to make hamburgers?"

* * *

When America came into the room about thirty minutes later, the lamps inside the room were already off. He tiptoed inside, setting his bag down on the inside of the door. Alfred tried to move as soundlessly as possible so as not to risk waking Arthur up. He'd already caught a glimpse of the Englishman's shape in the other bed. The American crept over to his own, wincing at every creak of the wooden boards under his feet.

Alfred sat down on the foot of the bed, starting to prepare for sleep. He had just begun tugging his boots off when the lamp between the two beds clicked on. It made him lurch in surprise. Alfred looked quickly over to Arthur's bed. "Shit. Did I wake you?"

"I wasn't sleeping." Arthur confessed. He slid upright on his bed so that the blankets pooled at his waist. "My thoughts are racing too much for that."

Dropping his boots to the floor, Alfred slowly spun around on the mattress. He pulled his legs up to fold in front of him as he faced the other nation's bed. "I don't blame you. My brain has been a mess all day. Mostly about starting this adventure tomorrow. Though you suddenly showing up to become part of the equation here is also a little mind-boggling. Why are you here, Arthur? And why are you so mad at me about it? I didn't ask you to come."

"No, you didn't. I decided on it myself." Arthur sighed, fingers lacing together where they rested on his lap. "And you shouldn't be so sensitive about my foul mood. It isn't directed at you. I had been working myself into a frenzy of worry since you left the conference room. This entire situation has me royally ticked off. I… I even slugged France on my way out to chase after you boys."

"So you're not pissed at me? I guess that's a refreshing change." Alfred chuckled quietly.

"I didn't say that I wasn't 'pissed' at you. I am, a little, since you are actually going to go through with this nonsense. You should have more concern over yourself, you prat! It's as if you're convinced that you are invincible. You aren't." Arthur dropped his eyes from Alfred's face, suddenly finding some fascination with staring at the blankets. Bright spots of color flared in his down-turned cheeks. "I... decided that it would be better if I came to watch out for you. We don't always get along well, you and I, but sometimes it is difficult for me to maintain a neutral standpoint in concern to your safety."

"Old habits die hard?" Alfred grinned crookedly at the other nation.

Arthur scoffed, averting his face as his blush spread. "Shut up, prat. It isn't... like that."

The American started to laugh as he watched Arthur squirm on the other bed. He slid off of his own bed, leaping without warning onto the Englishman's mattress in a splash of limbs. Arthur was scandalized, both of his hands swatting at whatever they could as he found himself being assaulted. "What are you on about? Are you daft? You're like some big, excitable dog, Alfred. Kindly remove yourself from my bed!"

"I can't help myself. Sometimes you are just so adorable and I want to squeeze you!" Alfred declared brightly, still grinning. He wrapped his arms around the Englishman's waist to back up his words, teasingly cooing up to Arthur as he embraced the other nation.

"I'm not – not 'adorable'!" Arthur stammered in protest. "Get off of me, you idiot. You're right heavy."

"Arthur. Shut up." Alfred commanded him quietly. His teasing nature had vanished. He tightened his arms around Arthur's waist again.

Looking down at the American laying across his lap, Arthur prevented another automatic protest when he took a closer inspection. Alfred's head had come to rest on his legs, the American's face turned towards the light of the lamp. Arthur saw that the younger nation was blushing just as badly as he was. That sweet sight was enough to defeat his irritation. He placed a hand down on the top of Alfred's head instead, fingers carding into the American's mess of hair.

Alfred slid one of his hands down from where he'd been embracing Arthur, fingers curling up into the fabric of the blankets next to Arthur's hip. He seemed hesitant to speak, only finding the words after a few minutes dragged on of their strangely comfortable silence. "I'm... glad that you're here."

"Are you?" Arthur made a musing sound in his throat.

"Yes. Don't sound so smug about it." Alfred mumbled, tempted to pinch the other nation's leg through the blankets.

"I'm not being smug. I'm pleasantly surprised."

"Really?"

"Are you kidding? That is the closest admission that I have ever heard from you that you're actually grateful for my help. I'm chuffed to bits."

"Don't get used to it. It's only out of a moment of weakness that I would ever admit it." Alfred warned him. He rubbed his cheek against the warmth of Arthur's leg, the fabric of the blanket soft. The slow passage of the Englishman's fingers through his hair was making him drowsy. "Hey, Arthur?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"I'm sleeping right here tonight. Deal with it."

Arthur chuckled softly, feigning fear. "Oh, I understand. Whatever you command, America. Lord knows that I only exist to cater to your silly whims."

"You finally understand how the world works." Alfred yawned, eyes closing as he snuggled more comfortably down into the other nation's warmth.

The American quickly fell asleep. Arthur was a little impressed at how fast the other nation managed to sink into slumber. He stared thoughtfully down at Alfred sprawled across his lap. Arthur stopped running his fingers through Alfred's hair when it seemed that the other nation was too deeply asleep to notice the end of the ministrations.

He let his eyes stray over Alfred's sleeping face, peaceful in repose. Arthur slipped his hand down in front of it. He could feel the American's breath against his knuckles where Alfred's lips had parted. That moist heat lured his fingers in until Arthur found himself trailing his index finger in a feather light caress over Alfred's bottom lip. It was much softer than he expected.

Arthur withdrew his hand as if it had been burnt. He thumped his head back against the headboard with a rough sigh. _Idiot. _Reaching over to the lamp, Arthur clicked it off, and then settled back to rest while trying to decide if he was accusing Alfred of being an idiot, or if he meant it towards himself.

* * *

The next morning, they decided on their course of action during breakfast. Arthur had a small map spread out on one of the wooden tables that he had retrieved from his bag. He'd taken the time to transfer the zones of damaged areas onto this portable map so that they would have an idea of what sections to avoid. ("I would have never thought of that!" Alfred had said.)

Arthur and Toris had only eaten a light breakfast, the Lithuanian having stayed long enough to help them plot out their course. They conferred while the two brothers ate their food. Matthew was slicing through a fresh stack of pancakes, while Alfred seemed intent on stuffing as much of the sausage, eggs and unknown dishes into his mouth at once to create some strange ethnic concoction. Toris looked away from the map in the direction of the American's loud feasting noises, and then returned to sliding his index finger over the sketched lands. "Your best chance will be to cross at the lowest point of Belarus, before setting across the bottom of Russia. If the damaged zone sizes are accurate, then getting down into China will only be possible by detouring up deeper into the Siberian territory and entering Mongolia from the north."

"That was my thought." Arthur nodded in agreement, green eyes searching the map. "If we can navigate through the damaged zones then we might even be able to speed our journey by crossing the flat terrain of the tundra. Perhaps we could even be fortunate enough to stumble across a vehicle that is still salvageable."

"You could always make a sled, too." Matthew suggested as he stirred his spoon in a puddle of syrup on his plate. "If we can find enough supplies to build one, anyway. It's been a while since I've been over into Russia but it shouldn't be so different from the tundra wilderness back home."

Alfred finished swallowing a mass of food. He took the time between absorbing one mouthful and adding another in order to compliment his brother. "Wow, Matt. I'm pretty impressed that you know how to build a sled. I never realized what a rugged little outdoorsman you are!"

"Canadians are resourceful." Matthew pointed out as he finally pushed his plate away. He checked his brother's plate. "You'd better finish eating. If you eat too much, then your body is going to need more energy to digest it. Digestion takes water, which in turn dehydrates you that much faster. We don't need you sucking up all of our water supplies in the first few hours, Alfred."

"Where did you learn all of this stuff?" Alfred was picturing his brother out in the wilderness. He tried to imagine Matthew out in the middle of a snowy wasteland, killing polar bears with sticks and building cabins with his bare hands. The image of Matthew trying to wrestle a massive polar bear made him giggle.

"Going out, exploring my place. There's plenty of it that is still uncivilized territory. I sometimes like to wander through the unexplored wilderness to see what I can find. It reminds of me of the old days, when there weren't so many people and the world was a much quieter place." Matthew said wistfully. Then he frowned. "Before you decided that nearly every possible inch of land in the United States needed to be settled on."

Alfred tossed the other half of the sausage onto his plate. Suddenly, he didn't have his appetite anymore. Matthew's face went scarlet as he recoiled from his own thoughtless words. "S-sorry, I—"

"Don't worry about it." Alfred told him firmly. "Seriously. It's not that big of a deal. Part of my country is gone. I've made peace with that fact. I can't dwell on it, I can only move forward." He smiled as he picked up both of their plates from the table. "You and Arthur need to stop being so sensitive about stuff sometimes."

Matthew watched his brother go to return their plates to the kitchen. He nearly slapped himself for his stupidity. The Canadian rose from the table and went to stand near Toris and Arthur as they finalized the plan. "So, you've got it all thought out then, eh?"

"Yes." Arthur nodded firmly. "Just as long as we don't have to deviate around the damaged points too much, then it should be a fairly straightforward journey. Not too many mountains to navigate or anything. We'll have a nice flat stretch for quite a chunk of the trip."

"Good. The less I have to climb, the better." Matthew said cheerfully as he studied the map.

Arthur placed a hand on the Canadian's shoulder. "You… don't have to go now. I can look after Alfred on my own, Matthew. You could fly back to Geneva with Toris and take some more time to heal. I'll look after your brother."

Matthew shook his head quickly. "No. I have to do this. I'd like to claim that I am doing it out of an altruistic intent, but that would be a lie. It is also motivated by a selfish need on my part. I want to go through with this. This is my opportunity to prove my value to everybody that has always dismissed me in the past. I intend to show them the true worth of Canada."

"You and your brother both seem to be riding high on a wave of patriotism lately." Arthur mused. He did not make any further mention of Matthew staying behind, only nodding as he began to roll up the map. "We have our path. We have our destination. Now it will simply be a matter of not getting ourselves killed along the way."

"I'm sure that it won't be that dangerous." Matthew replied automatically. Then the Canadian shuddered a little, as the thought abruptly crossed his mind that he'd probably be very, very wrong.

* * *

Their trio had started out in the early morning hours to make the most of their allotted daylight. It was already freezing; they had been forced to bundle up for the winter conditions before they'd even walked half the day. Matthew had to help the other two nations get dressed for the arctic cold. He had taken far more pleasure than appropriate when it came time to getting Alfred's face protected against the icy winds. He'd probably wound the scarf around his brother's mouth more times than needed; it had effectively muffled any words that the American tried to speak.

Fortunately, Alfred's inability to speak clearly had probably saved his life. As soon as Matthew had finished assisting England with suiting up, Alfred had immediately started to laugh behind the layers of fabric. He'd pointed a thickly gloved hand towards Arthur, as the sight of the bundled man seemed to amuse him considerably. That had resulted in the British nation shuffling over to where the American stood shaking with laughter and promptly socking the taller man in his head.

Matthew had taken the lead for the group. He used a thick, tall stick that he'd found to maintain his balance. On occasion, the Canadian would prod at the drifts in front of him to make sure that they weren't about to fall into some unseen hole. Fortunately, everything seemed to already have been packed down tightly for the season. The snow cushioned each step that he took and the cold numbed his legs enough that he didn't even feel any pain from the burns.

They were lucky that it wasn't snowing. Matthew turned his face up to the sky. It was a blanket of pale white cloud cover, but he couldn't see any sign of an impending flurry. So long as the weather stayed merciful then the chances of covering more ground was that much better. The sun was up there behind the clouds, but in a place like this, the sun never offered any warmth.

The first day of their trip was uneventful. It had been Arthur who had suggested that they set up camp while there were still traces of light left in the sky. The nights here would creep up quickly. Matthew had left Alfred in charge of getting a fire started while he prepared their bedding for the night. Both Alfred and Arthur watched curiously as the Canadian went about his preparations; Alfred having unwrapped the scarf from around his face once the fire was going strong. "What exactly are you doing, Matt?"

"It's bad to sleep directly on the snow." Matthew explained absently as he began to litter the ground near the fire with leaves from the nearby trees. He'd gathered quite a bundle of debris, sprinkling it on the surface of the snow until it was nearly an inch deep. "The snow pulls out body heat. Putting a layer between yourself and the snow will give that heat something to reflect off of – like lying on a blanket. It's just an old survivalist's trick. The rest of it will come from... us."

"Us?" Alfred asked.

"Our body heat? We're going to have to… you know… sleep close to each other."

"How close?" The American gave him a skeptical look.

Arthur snorted from where he'd settled on his knees on the far side of the fire. "As close as a hamburger bun to a patty. I think that's a description that even your addled mind could understand?"

"That's pretty close." Alfred said worriedly. Then his stomach gave off a loud rumbling. "You shouldn't have mentioned burgers, Arthur. Now I'm starving."

Matthew freed his crossbow from the strap across his back, slapping it down into both hands with a sigh. "I guess that means that I'd better hunt down some food for us. If there are any dangerous creatures in this area, the last thing we need is for the sound of Alfred's stomach to lure them from miles away."

Arthur blinked up at the Canadian. "Are you sure that you feel up to the task? I'd be happy to take responsibility for hunting, if you would rather rest your legs."

"I've got it. I'm happy to do it." Matthew smiled happily as he tucked some ammunition into the pocket of his coat. "For the first time in nearly a month, I am not feeling any pain. I'd hate to lose the momentum. You two wait here. I'll be back before you know it."

Alfred watched as his brother tromped away into the nearby forest. He waited until certain that the Canadian was out of earshot, seizing that moment to scoot over next to Arthur. "I'd forgotten how scary Matthew could sometimes be. Remind me to be nicer to him in the future, especially if he has a weapon."

"Your brother is a fighter. While he may have become complacent these past few decades, it would do well for you not to forget that." Arthur murmured, unconsciously nestling into the warmth of the American's side. "Canada has never been one to seek glory; his wartime accomplishments are often overlooked when braggarts like you are hogging all the fame. It seems to have slipped your mind that at one point in time, most European nations were quite reluctant to rile up the Canadians."

"I guess so. I sort of remember hearing that. But now he's so… so..." Alfred tried to search for an accurate description. "...So Canadian." Flipping back through his memories, the American did recall a few snippets that supported Arthur's words. He remembered Matthew deep in a trench in the midst of a war - covered in mud and blood that wasn't his, as his mild little brother casually snapped an opposing soldier's neck. Farther back was the memory of when he'd crossed swords with his sibling around 1812 and Alfred could remember feeling the first slice of fear in realizing that his brother was perhaps more capable at fending him off than he had initially thought.

Though really, all it took was a hockey match to transform Matthew from a quiet, thoughtful young man into a fearsome, feral beast. Alfred had had his fair share of bruises from being on the business end of a brutal hockey stick attack on more than one occasion after he had thoughtlessly disparaged the merit of the sport. "Hm. I never really thought about it."

"You hardly ever think about anything." Arthur pointed out. He kept inching tighter and tighter against Alfred's side. The taller nation emanated pleasant warmth even through the multiple layers of fabric.

Finally, fed up with having his arm being squished by the squirming Englishman, Alfred just shifted and wrapped it around Arthur's shoulders. "Geez. If you're that cold then you should just say so. You don't need to try to make an indentation in my side, Arthur."

"I... Sorry." Arthur was suddenly glad for the layers of fabric and cover of darkness to hide his blush from the other nation's sight. He certainly hadn't expected such a move on Alfred's part. "I can scoot back if you'd prefer. It's just been ages since I have been out in this sort of weather and I've not adjusted to it yet."

Alfred answered him by curling his gloved fingers around Arthur's opposite shoulder and giving a slight tug that folded the Englishman more completely in the loop of his arm. Arthur sat stiffly in that embrace, until it started to feel familiar enough that he could relax. They sat there together, watching the fire crackling in front of them. Arthur even allowed himself to rest his head against the American's shoulder as the minutes stretched on. It was a risk, and he was probably going to berate himself later for being so indulgent, but Arthur found some comfort in nestling as closely as he was allowed into that web of trusty heat.

"You know that we're going to have to settle this soon." Alfred said quietly.

Arthur lifted his head back up at the enigmatic words. "What?"

He discovered that Alfred's eyes were waiting for him when his face angled up. The sudden proximity of the other nation's face in his personal space stole Arthur's breath away. All that he could do in those moments was watch the motions of Alfred's eyes as they searched over his face with a strange intensity. Arthur forgot about the chill of the air entirely; that look was enough to spread a pool of warmth throughout his body.

Alfred lazily inspected the Englishman's eyes then dropped to his mouth. Was he really seeing him through those blind eyes, or was he merely reconstructing the images from memory? The American's tongue peeked out to wet his lips as if something about Arthur's mouth looked delicious. Alfred's voice was intimately low. "This. Whatever this is. I want to simplify my future, but you are way too much of a complication."

"We've always had a complex relationship." Arthur whispered. Was that even his voice? He firmly denied that he could ever sound so weak. So hopeful.

Alfred's eyes flickered back up into Arthur's to seek the answer to some question deep inside them. "Right. By the end of this trip we are going to sort everything out - do you hear me? I won't set foot back in Geneva until you and I put things in order."

"Very well." Honestly, Arthur would probably have agreed to anything the American wanted at that moment. His brain had gone fuzzy in his head under Alfred's unwavering scrutiny. The only thing that he seemed able to really focus on was the moist heat of breath that was caressing his face from less than an inch away. While Alfred's eyes stayed fully open, Arthur's own went half-mast as he leaned tentatively forward with the intent of breaching that gap.

"I'm back!" Matthew's voice floated into their private little world, interrupting the moment with all the gentleness of a bull in a china shop.

Arthur jerked back from Alfred, nearly in a panic. He shrank back into himself while putting that distance between the two of them. Alfred sighed when the Englishman scrambled to reclaim his composure, arm dropping back to his side as he twisted to smile in his brother's direction. "Hey, Matt – welcome back. Did you score us some good grub?"

* * *

Alfred took first watch for the night. After they'd had a small feast of a couple arctic hares Matthew had caught, both Canada and England settled in for their turns at sleeping. Alfred kept his brother's crossbow resting across his lap in case any wild animals wandered near their camp. He kept the fire burning strong, tossing on more bits of the wood that they'd gathered when it seemed ready to die down. As the American resigned himself to guarding their camp, he let his thoughts wander.

He tried to think about the journey ahead of them. To plot out what they were going to do when they finally reached China. How they were going to get the ancient nation back to Geneva if he was gravely injured. Alfred tried to decide what he was going to say to the other nations back in Geneva when he finally returned. What was a fittingly rude insult to say to a German, anyway? He couldn't remember any of the good ones from the war.

Those were the things that he wanted to think about. His brain, apparently, had other plans, because it kept turning back to thoughts concerning Arthur. Alfred squinted his blind eye closed, forcing all of his focus into the hazy one as he looked towards the sleeping nations.

Arthur and Matthew looked comfortably close beneath the cocoon of blankets. Matthew had curled up on his right side; his fingers folded limply up in front of his mouth as the Canadian softly snored. Arthur had managed to fit against the other nation's back, molded to Matthew's body as if it were a perfectly natural occurrence. He'd wrapped an arm around the Canadian's middle in a manner that was both protective and paternal. Arthur's breath was stirring the fine hairs at the back of Matthew's head.

Neither of them seemed uncomfortable with the situation. For some reason, it irked Alfred considerably. He quickly averted his gaze from the pair and looked back at the fire instead.

What deity had he angered that had wished the curse of this situation upon him? He was going to be trekking through one of the countries that he disliked most, with the only two people that he had a considerably difficult relationship.

Matthew wasn't so bad. Sure, they still had their share of problems between them. Their sibling rivalry was nowhere near as bad as it had been in the past. Alfred got the feeling that Matthew still hadn't fully forgiven him for burning down his Parliament that one time. Though his White House had been torched in retaliation, so they had become even on that point. Despite the clashes in the past, they had both grown past those old wounds and resentments.

Alfred knew that Matthew was his ally, his brother, his drinking buddy and his confidant. The Canadian got incredibly angry with him from time to time, but Alfred knew that Matthew would never turn him away. He could count on Matthew. They were brothers. Any problems that they had with each other could be settled by a fistfight. They'd just beat the crap out of each other one day, lick their wounds, and then go catch a hockey game down at the bar as if it had never happened.

Arthur was an entirely different matter. A difficult, puzzling, frustrating, irresistible matter.

He had already figured out the other nations in his immediate social circle. France either wanted into his pants or wanted to lecture him like a mother. Germany thought that he was a hopeless idiot and treated him like a pest. Japan was fascinated by him while simultaneously withdrawn, because as friendly as they were to each other; the dark moments of their past still lingered. The Italians were idiots – just idiots. Russia had been a rival and an equal before he got blown to hell. Ivan had been a whole other set of complications for him, but at least in ways that Alfred could handle through threats or outright violence.

Then there was Arthur.

England. British Empire. Britannia. The United Kingdom. A former conqueror of other lands, once a ruthless pirate that ruled the seas if what France had told him were true - now a man that seemed to prefer old leather books and sweater vests. Alfred could not pin down exactly how he viewed the other nation. He'd had a lifetime to see the many different faces of Arthur Kirkland without any of them giving him any better idea of who the older nation truly was.

He'd been England, the often awkward but doting caretaker that had provided him warmth, security and love. He'd been the British Empire that had stifled his freedoms, choked him with limitless restrictions until Alfred had to either fight to be free or drown in captivity - the same empire that had sacrificed its pride to fall to its knees and cry over the loss of its dearest colony. Years later, he had been Britannia, returning to the shores of America to teach the young nation a brutal lesson in cruelty, as if they had never had a history – as if they'd never loved each other.

Finally, he'd simply become The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. As if having such a long title would somehow demonstrate that he was still a great sprawling empire instead of a tired old country that had been battered by too many intense wars too soon together. He'd become Arthur, with his cardigans and his tea sets, his daily rituals and his long walks down rainy streets or foggy hillsides.

Arthur had lain down the sword and shield of his former days, instead taking up the mantle of becoming the lynchpin that held the world in balance. It was no less important of a role. He was good at keeping everything orchestrated together in a sort of organized chaos. His entire existence had prepared him for it; every battle, every victory, every defeat had tempered England to serve just that purpose.

Good old Arthur. Dependable, sturdy, diplomatic England.

How unlike the unreliable, capricious, aggressive America!

Arthur - with his choppy blond hair that felt like silk and his big green eyes that were the same shade as the untouched emerald fields of grass littering his island nation. The very nation who moved with prim efficiency; with calloused but incredibly warm fingers, capable of a tender caress or harsh cruelty. Arthur and his lean body, hiding all of his true strength underneath the harmless guise of a gentleman as if he had never, ever smashed a man's skull through a wall. (That incident had been both disturbing to see while at the same time being incredibly awesome to have witnessed! It was certainly one of the more memorable moments of the war.)

Alfred wanted to peel all of those carefully woven layers away to see if he could once and for all find the true core of Arthur. He wanted to strip the other nation down, piece by piece, and lay bare all the answers to all those secrets that had been plaguing his mind since the moment he first felt a foreign British nation step upon unspoiled American shores.

He wanted—

Shit.

He wanted England.

For the first time in decades, America had put something together all on his own and reached a heady revelation. Not for the last time, he had absolutely no idea what the hell he was going to do about it.


	7. Chapter 7

Another installment. Arthur gets some action, but not of the sexual variety.

There is some dialogue here that is supposed to be in Russian. But I did not want to risk mis-translating anything, so it will simply be in English, but in italics. I hope that doesn't cause confusion. I tried to make it as clear as possible.

* * *

Pale dawn was spreading over the horizon when Arthur woke up. His head lifted, green eyes blinking blearily as he looked around. He noticed the encroaching morning light, saw that Alfred was sitting by the fire with a few new sticks of wood on hand. The American's eyes were shadowed from a lack of sleep, dark circles curled underneath them. Their mottled surface was just a shade closer to blue than yesterday – the difference in color was quite noticeable due to Alfred's face being so pale this morning.

He gently untangled himself from Matthew. The Canadian was still sleeping soundly, and Arthur did not want to disturb him. Alfred looked away from the fire, catching his movements as he rose. Arthur remained on a knee long enough to tuck the blankets back around Matthew before he brushed himself off and ambled to Alfred's side.

Arthur bent down to give the other nation a brief examination. Alfred winced away from him, the American quickly turning his face aside. "W-what?"

"Have you been awake the whole night?"

"Um. Maybe."

"Alfred." Arthur tsked in disapproval, shaking his head as he crouched in front of the seated American. "You should have woken us up. The plan was to take shifts in watching the camp. If you were reluctant to wake Matthew, you should have at least woken me. Now you're going to be exhausted."

"I won't be." Alfred nervously adjusted his collar. He was flushed in the face, squirming awkwardly back from the Englishman. "I can go for quite a while without sleep. Why, during the old Civil War, I didn't even sleep a wink the entire time. That was a few years and all. But of course you're well aware of how long it was, since you were alive back then, too, and it's pretty common knowledge in most history books…" Was he rambling? Alfred was pretty sure that he was rambling. In fact, Arthur had that look on his face that implied that he agreed wholeheartedly that there was definite rambling taking place.

The American stood up abruptly, mouth snapping shut. He shifted the crossbow in his grip, slapping it into his opposite palm. "Um. I'm going to go shoot some breakfast now."

"I would rather that you didn't." Arthur grimaced at the idea of the American firing off a weapon in his current condition. "Partly because you wouldn't be able to see any animals well enough to get a good shot. Second, you tend to waste ammunition even with your eyes at their best." Arthur stood up, holding his hand out to take the weapon. "Let me handle it. You really should try and get at least a couple hours of sleep. I need you to be alert, Alfred."

Alfred hesitated. He thoughtfully tapped the crossbow on his palm. Then, sighing, he handed the weapon over to Arthur. "Fine. Just don't shoot your hand off or anything, okay?"

Taking the crossbow, Arthur tested the feel of the weapon in his hand. He chortled quietly at the American's warning. "Are you joking? My dear boy, once upon a time weapons like these were the only ranged variety available. I could probably still fire a bow and arrow if I put my mind to it, but I'm so rusty that my aim would be horrible." Arthur drew himself up, presenting the American with a quick British salute. "Leave it to me." He winked and headed past the other nation towards the woods behind their camp.

Alfred waited until the Englishman disappeared into the trees before resigning himself to getting some sleep. While his brain was still in a panic regarding what he was supposed to do with his 'Arthur Situation', the American knew that he was going to be useless to the others if he didn't at least make a little effort to tend to himself. He stepped over to where Matthew was sleeping, peeling one side of the blankets up.

His brother shivered in his sleep due to the invasion of cold, but Alfred was quick to fill that chill with his own heat. He wrapped himself up, glad to discover exactly how wonderfully warm it was, arms curling around Matthew's waist as he snuggled up tightly with his brother. Dimly, he noticed that they fit together like puzzle pieces, perfectly matched together. Then his head tucked in against the back of Matthew's, eyes closing, and Alfred fell asleep inhaling the sweet scent of maple.

* * *

Alfred's stomach woke up before he did.

The rumbling belly was enough to wake him back up, as his nose thickly inhaled the nearby scent of something delicious. It smelled like meat being cooked over a fire.

Cooked. Cooking… Arthur!

Alfred bolted upright from beneath the blankets with a soft cry of alarm. He even had a hand outstretched in a silent plea that his breakfast wouldn't be a complete mess already.

Arthur was peering at him with widened eyes. He'd balanced some sizeable animal over the crackling fire, turning it in a steady circle. "Good Lord, Alfred! You scared me half out of my wits doing that! What's the matter?"

The American's hand lowered slowly as he realized that the animal wasn't burnt to a crisp, coated with any weird substance, or any other of Arthur's usual 'special touches'. "Oh. It… are you sure that you've got that handled? I didn't know that when you offered to go hunting that meant you also planned to… you know… cook."

"Why on earth would you think otherwise?" Arthur shook his head, muttering something about Americans under his breath. He eyed the meat with a critical eye before looking mournful. "I'm afraid that it won't be as good as usual. I don't have any herbs to season it. I suppose I could go scrounge through the forest to see what I could find."

"No, no." Alfred eased out from the blankets. He was surprised that Matthew was still sleeping. The sky had grown lighter; clearly several hours had passed and yet the Canadian had not budged. Alfred forgot about feeling awkward around Arthur for the time being as he quickly approached the Englishman on a mission to rescue the food. "Why don't you let me take care of the cooking, hm?"

"Nonsense. I've got it managed just fine."

Alfred's fingers twitched at his sides. "Arthur. Give it to me. Hand it over, and step _away_ from my breakfast, okay?"

That seemed to offend the other nation, as Arthur glowered at him. But he did pass over the stick to Alfred's care, murmuring stiffly, "Fine. My… hand was growing tired anyway. Just don't burn it."

"Trust me – that's exactly what I'm _trying_ to prevent."

Arthur considered hitting him. However, there was too strong a chance that Alfred would have been knocked into the fire. He let it slide, for now. "I'm going to wake your brother. He's been asleep this whole time – just as lazy as you."

"It's been a rough month for Canada. Cut him a little slack, you strict slave driver." Alfred teased.

The Englishman ignored the other nation's words. He bent over Matthew's slumbering form, placing a hand gently down on the Canadian's shoulder. Arthur gave it a little shake to try and rouse the younger man. "Matthew? Matthew, it's time to wake up." He prodded more insistently when the Canadian slurred a few muttered words.

Arthur was rocked backwards by the other nation as Matthew shot up straight as an arrow. His eyes were wide with anguish, bulging in his face. The Canadian's hands contorted into desperate claws above the surface of his legs, scratching at the air above them. And poor Arthur could only do his best not to faint right then and there as Matthew looked him dead in the eyes and let out a blood-curdling scream.

* * *

"We crossed the border into Russia several miles back." Arthur announced over the width of his map, making a notation on its surface. "Strange how it already feels that much colder."

The brothers turned back towards him. More accurately, Alfred turned back to him and Matthew just sort of clung there. Alfred had been piggybacking Matthew for the last half of their travels. He'd been doing it ever since the morning that the Canadian had screamed himself hoarse after a moment of pain-filled clarity finally caught up to him. Arthur and Alfred had done what they could to provide Matthew comfort then. Alfred had fished out a handful of the Canadian's pain pills from their bottle with hands that were shaking badly. Arthur, calmer in the face of the emergency, had been the one to force those pills into the nation's screaming mouth and had held Matthew's head with an iron grip while dumping half of a bottle of their water supply down the Canadian's throat.

"I could tell, even without you saying so." Alfred said dryly as he shifted his brother's weight on his back to evenly distribute it again. "The vibe of this country is just that _different_."

"There is a lot of history to this nation." Arthur tucked the map back away into his bag. "Tragedy, death, betrayal. I'd imagine that if you could ever manage to thaw out all this snow in places, you'd probably discover that the soil beneath is stained red with all the blood that has been spilt here."

"Wouldn't surprise me." The American muttered before shifting his attention towards the man on his back. "Hey, Matthew, how are you doing?"

"Nn." Matthew mumbled in protest where his head rested limply on the back of Alfred's shoulder. He'd been drifting in and out of consciousness for a while due to the heavy medication of the pain pills. They had been giving him one every morning.

That vague response had Alfred worried. It had been quite a few hours since Matthew was very lucid. He cursed himself yet again for having allowed his brother to talk him into coming along on this insane trip. Already, Alfred had lost track of exactly how long they had been walking. It had become just a blur of day into night into day into night all while he worried for his brother's welfare. He suspected that Arthur was keeping track but never remembered to ask.

"There should be a small town coming up." Arthur suggested after a time. "We can stop there to check for supplies. Perhaps even locate something to transport Matthew with to give your back a rest. If my map is correct then the town should be right on the cusp of the nearest fallout zone."

"Do you think it will be safe there?" Alfred asked cautiously. He remembered what Japan had said about the militant radicals that had stationed throughout the nation. If the town was still untainted by the blasts then there was a strong chance that they were going to find more than just supplies when they arrived.

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know, Alfred. But what better option do we have? We need to get Matthew out of this weather and into a stable shelter, if just for one night."

"I guess you're right. I just don't trust it. My gut instinct is telling me that it's a bad, bad idea."

"That doesn't surprise me. Your instincts in regards to Russia have been negative and on the high side of obsessive-paranoia since the mid-fifties." Arthur said dismissively, before he hurried ahead of Alfred to take the lead. "Follow me. I'll take us there."

* * *

The decision on who would scout out the town had predictably been an argument. It had only been solved after extensive debate and the eventual suggestion on the American's part that they settle things with a childish round of 'Rock, Paper, Scissors'. Of course, Alfred didn't understand that he was horribly outmatched in a game of strategy and after three rounds of losing to Arthur, England emerged victorious.

Alfred stayed back with Matthew in the forest outside of the town's limits, the American withdrawing his handgun and pressing it into Arthur's gloved hand with a terse warning. "Be careful. Don't make me have to come down there and save your ass."

"Riding in at the last minute like my personal cavalry is your signature move, isn't it?" Arthur teased him gently as he tucked an extra clip of ammunition into the top pocket of his jacket. He winked at the American, before the Britain's game face locked into place as he holstered the handgun and ducked off under the cover of darkness towards the town.

Arthur kept low to the ground, using the snow as cover when he could as he approached the town. To describe it as a town was probably glorifying it too much. It appeared to be nothing more than a cluster of wooden buildings in the middle of nowhere. There were no people moving around outside. Several of the buildings, in fact, looked like they had been deserted. Arthur darted silently around behind the abandoned places to check if any of them might contain anything useful. He stretched on his toes to peek in through the windows. Unfortunately, it looked like everything had been stripped from inside of them. At least they still had some merit as potential shelters for Matthew.

He was ready to dismiss the town entirely until he saw that one of the homes on the other end of the town was occupied. Smoke was pouring out of the chimney, lights in the windows. Arthur felt some relief at seeing that he might have had a spot of luck after all. He hurried along the back of the houses in the direction of the cabin to scout it out. There was a figure standing outside on the porch smoking a cigarette. Just when he was ready to step out from the shadow of the building, Arthur lurched back into the shadows as a few details became glaringly obvious.

First, that the man out on the porch was not a civilian. He was dressed in a military uniform and even despite the darkness Arthur could tell that he was armed. Arthur's eyes narrowed as he studied the fellow. The man turned back towards the opened door to shout something in Russian. So he wasn't alone.

Arthur waited until he was sure that there were no patrols walking around the perimeter of the cabin. If the smoking soldier's behavior was an example of their current state of alert, they were not expecting anyone to surprise them in their holdout. He raced silently to the back of the cabin when the smoking man turned away from his direction, diving the last feet to roll into a crouch in the shadows beneath the closest window. Arthur was irritated to admit that Alfred's paranoia had been justified in this instance.

Creeping up to stand next to the window, he risked a quick peek inside to get a fast count of how many men were in the cabin. There was a pair of men playing cards on a round wooden table in the middle of the room. The third chair was pulled out and unoccupied – probably by the soldier who had gone out to have a smoke. They spoke animatedly in Russian, drifting between their cards and jeering at the man outside.

So there were three? Arthur twisted his head to glance up at a window on the upper level. There was a light up there as well. More soldiers were on the higher floor? Arthur eased away from under the window. His eyes searched along the line of the roof above him until he found a low overhang. Flexing his fingers to restore more of their circulation, the Englishman took a few backward steps to allow some space to build momentum. He then launched himself forward, springing up to grab hold of that overhang. Arthur climbed spryly up onto the edge of the roof, hauling himself onto it.

The surface of the roof was slick from the last spill of snow. Arthur used the roughened toe of his boots to find purchase before moving silently over the roof in the direction of that second story window. He was lucky that it wasn't so far down that he'd need to lean very far over the edge. Taking a tumble off of the roof of a cabin full of hostiles didn't sound appealing. Arthur curled over the lip of the roof so that he could look down into the window.

He made an interesting discovery. None of the people in the upstairs room were soldiers. In fact, based on their huddled, fearful state, they appeared to be captives. It looked like a small family of four – husband, wife, a young man and a little girl. Their clothes were neglected and dirty, the fashion of farmers that normally worked the lands in places like this. The two males had bruises on their faces, both fresh and faded. Apparently their card-playing captors hadn't been very kind to them.

Arthur felt a surge of anger. True, their plight was none of his business. He could have easily just returned to where he'd left Alfred and Matthew, inform the American that there had been nothing of value here, and gone on his way. Something kept him from merely dismissing them. Arthur made a quick mental inventory of how much ammunition he'd brought with him.

He wasn't sure what possessed him. Arthur was questioning himself and his actions, some part of him trying to talk himself out of going through with this. It wasn't his place. He hadn't come here to get into a fight! Even as he was upbraiding himself for his lapse into insanity, Arthur was picking up some hard bits of debris from the roof beside him and tossing it roughly against the closed window.

The wife noticed him first, drawn by the sound of something hitting the glass. He saw her eyes widen, a finger coming up over his mouth to warn her to keep silent. She seemed to take the hint, turning to tug on her husband's arm. His glaring face turned away from the door to their room towards the window instead. Arthur made quick gestures, indicating the window and motioning for them to open it. He hoped that they could do it quietly.

At first, the husband seemed hesitant to comply. Then he finally untangled himself from the clutching grips of his family in order to approach the window. Arthur could only watch as the man propped his hands on the bottom of it and pushed it upright. The family shivered in response to the sudden rush of cold air that came pouring in, though the husband was looking at Arthur with open mistrust, addressing him in his native Russian tongue in a cold whisper. Arthur's brain had to translate for him. Thank God he still spoke some of the language. _What do you want?_

_I'm a friend. Comrade. _Arthur answered in a hissed whisper. _I am coming in._

The man nodded quickly and backed away from the window. Arthur eased around on the roof in order to lower his legs over the side. His arm muscles protested the action as he swung himself down to hang suspended above the ground. Arthur stretched his foot out in front of him until he felt it connect with the window's ledge. When he felt confident enough in the support of his footing, Arthur let go and dropped forward into the room.

He brushed snow off of his clothes and tried not to think about the fact that he'd just been dangling over the side of a two-story cabin. Somehow, someway, this odd behavior on his part was all Alfred's fault.

That damned hero's complex must have been contagious.

The family was looking at him strangely. He realized that they must have understood that he was a foreigner. His butchered attempt at speaking Russian was probably a dead giveaway. Arthur pushed the hood of his jacket back, unwinding the scarf from around his face so that he could speak to them more openly. They took in the sight of his tussled blond hair, his non-Slavic features, and the little girl pointed innocently up towards him with a quiet chirp of words. _His eyebrows are huge!_

Arthur sighed, but smiled down at her. He knelt down in front of the girl with a warm whisper. _Are you frightened, little one?_

She nodded solemnly. It was tragic to see such a young face already so hardened. The loss of innocence in a mere child. _The soldiers won't let us out._

Her father grabbed her by the shoulder so that he could pull her back away from the Englishman, protective. _You are not from here._

_I am just passing through. _Arthur explained to him as he stood back up. _I came here to look for supplies. How long have the soldiers been here?_

The man scowled towards the door. _Three days. Everyone else had left this town before they came. They have been using us like servants and treating us like dogs. Cooking, cleaning. We are prisoners in our own home._

Arthur nodded. He followed the man's line of sight to the door. Reaching down, Arthur tugged his gloves off his hands, stuffing them into the pocket of his jacket before he drew his handgun out of its holster. The sight of it made the entire family tense up. Without looking back at them, Arthur addressed the husband gently. _Can you get one of them to come up? I will get you out of this. I will save you. Help me._

The husband looked between his family and the armed, foreign man. Then he became determined, nodding at Arthur before going to the door. Arthur flattened himself against the wall beside the door as the man opened it up and shouted something out into the hallway. He did not bother taking the time to translate it; his mind was sharpening its focus in preparation for what was about to happen. Arthur sucked in a slow, calming breath and held it as he heard someone's booted feet coming up the stairs with heavy steps.

He indicated for the husband to back away into the room. The man needed to draw the soldier's attention, at least for the first few moments. Arthur shut his eyes, senses swelling up into a heightened state of awareness. Time was slowing down with every beat of his heart, thumping steady in his chest. His mind went into the place that it always did when in this situation – when diplomacy went out the window and there was only adrenaline. When it became a matter of killing or getting killed. And England was not intending to be killed tonight.

Arthur's eyes snapped open, pupils shrunk to hard green pinpoints, and he was ready.

The soldier demanded something from outside the door. Arthur saw the long barrel of his rifle as he pointed it inside. Switching the handgun into his far hand, the Englishman's hand shot swiftly out and grabbed hold of the rifle with an abrupt jerk forward. His strength combined with the soldier's surprise allowed him to bring the militant stumbling forward into the room.

Arthur was already spinning smoothly, movement fluid as he twisted the barrel of the rifle towards the floor in case the soldier fired the weapon in these crucial seconds of being dazed. He drove the bottom of his handgun with vicious force against the back of the soldier's skull, hearing a satisfying crunch and a grunt of pain before the militant toppled to the floor of the room in a boneless pile of limbs. Arthur took hold of the soldier's uniform to prevent him from falling too hard in an effort to deafen the sound of the impact on the floorboards. He did not need the other soldiers coming up to investigate. Yet.

Crouching down next to the soldier, Arthur briefly holstered his weapon and began to pat him down. He freed the rifle from the militant's limp hand, sliding it across the floorboards to where the husband was standing. The man took up the rifle without a word. Arthur found nothing of interest on the soldier's person, aside from some assorted weapons and a few rounds of ammunition. He'd come back to those later if needed.

When he pulled his gun back out, Arthur noticed that it had blood on the handle from the soldier's skull. It was hot and wet as it smeared on his fingers. The corners of his mouth tugged down in disgust. He was going to need to clean the thing before he gave it back to Alfred. Now that he had the civilian man for backup, this was going to go a little easier. Arthur stepped quietly out into the hallway to listen to what was happening downstairs.

The other two soldiers apparently had not heard the scuffle above them. They were still caught up in their conversation. Arthur smirked in satisfaction – apparently he hadn't lost his touch with the entire invade and conquer strategy.

It was time to interrupt their little card game.

"Hello? Is there a doctor in the house?"

The conversation downstairs went silent. He knew that they were startled from hearing someone speaking English loudly above them. Arthur danced back a few steps into the room as he heard them scrambling up from the table on their way towards the stairs. He also could hear the sounds of them cocking their rifles. Using the frame of the door to provide him some cover, Arthur twisted his arm around the corner and waited for their heads to come up into sight on the stairs.

Steady. Steady.

Arthur only needed two bullets to get the job done. Apparently he also hadn't lost his touch with shooting people in the head, either. A neat and tidy kill – so appropriately British. They both went tumbling back down the stairs in a spray of blood. He blinked quickly, impressed with himself. It was too bad that Alfred hadn't been here to see it. Arthur stepped out into the hallway with a low growl. "How's that for 'awesome', America?"

The husband walked out of the room to stand next to him, keeping the rifle trained on the men down below. He lowered it when he saw that there was no chance of them getting back up to continue the fight. His eyes passed over all the blood that riddled his stairwell. Arthur noticed it at the same time, face twisting apologetically. _Sorry about the mess._

_We will clean it. They are dead now, yes? _Something not quite a smile formed on the man's face. He reached his empty hand over and clapped it on Arthur's back. _You saved us after all, foreigner. Thank you._

_My pleasure. _Arthur said genuinely. The other members of the family were coming out of the room, but Arthur waved them back inside. They didn't need to see the bodies at the bottom of the stairs. Especially the children. _You will be okay now, right?_

_Yes. We were managing well before the soldiers came. This is our home and we will keep it. _The man said. He tilted his head at Arthur. _Will you be leaving now?_

Arthur nodded. _I need to return to my friends. They are waiting for me._

With his own nod, the man looked away from him. He held up a finger to indicate for the Englishman to wait as he went down the stairs to the bodies below. Arthur watched him curiously as the man searched through the belongings of the soldiers. He found whatever he'd been looking for, hurrying back up the stairs to press something into Arthur's empty palm with a grateful squeeze. _Please. Take it for you and your friends. It will help you._

Arthur looked down to his palm and discovered that it was a set of keys. His mouth opened in surprise. _Is this for…?_

_Their jeep is parked in the shed out back._

In his moment of delight, Arthur even forgot to speak Russian. "Jeep? Brilliant!"

* * *

Matthew had finally come around a while ago. Now he was watching his brother pace a trench in the snow as Alfred kept glancing worriedly in the direction of the distant town. The Canadian shifted where he'd rested back against a tree, murmuring. "I'm sure he's fine, Alfred. Would you stop pacing and take a seat? Wearing yourself out isn't going to do us any good."

"He should have been back by now." Alfred said sharply. "He's been gone too long." The American crouched down beside his brother and began pawing at the Canadian. "Where is your gun, Matthew? I'm going in after him."

"St-stop that! Stop manhandling me, Alfred." Matthew slapped at his brother's hands, fending him off with desperation. "You're not taking my gun! Just forget about it!"

"You son of a bi—" Alfred stopped in the midst of flailing with his brother, perking as he heard a strange sound. He stood up tall again, cocking an ear as he tried to place what it was. Alfred realized that it was a vehicle. And if the increasing volume was to be trusted, it was coming their way.

Matthew heard it shortly after the American. He began to force himself up to his feet, bringing his crossbow forward into his hands as they both tensed up. There was a good chance that whoever was driving towards them might have been hostile. Matthew raised the weapon up, pointing it in the direction of the vehicle closing in, prepared to shoot the driver if needed.

He lowered it, with a sound of disbelief, as he caught sight of who was behind the wheel. Alfred heard Matthew's noise, trying desperately to see whatever it was his brother had seen. "What? What is it? Matt, tell me!"

"Relax. It's Arthur."

"Arthur?" The American turned his head back and forth, squinting to try and see.

The two brothers stepped forward out the tree line as the jeep closed in on their location. Matthew waved an arm in the air to catch Arthur's attention, the lights of the jeep casting their shadows behind them as it came to a stop in front of them.

Arthur looked the two of them over with a smug expression. "Hello boys. Neither of you gents might be in need of a lift, would you?"

Alfred picked up their duffel bags, tossing them into the back of the jeep. "How the hell did you manage to get a jeep, Arthur? And what the hell _took_ you so long?"

"Sorry. I was detained by a few minor obstacles." The Englishman explained vaguely as the other two nations climbed into the vehicle. Alfred settled into the passenger seat beside him, while Matthew took advantage of the wide backseat to stretch his legs out. Once they were settled, Arthur worked the clutch, shifting gears as he began to drive onward. "Oh, and Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"Your handgun. It suits me better. I think I'm going to keep it."

"That's not fair." Alfred scowled towards the other nation. "If you wanted one that badly, then you should have brought your own."

"Hush." Arthur ordered him. They were driving back towards the little town. He pulled the jeep up alongside one of the darkened cabins on the outskirts, parking it behind the building. Arthur turned off the engine before gesturing to Alfred. "Grab Matthew. We'll stay here for tonight and get an early start in the morning. There isn't any furniture inside, but it will be warm once we start a fire."

"I feel… okay." Matthew spoke haltingly from the backseat. "We could just… keep going."

"Nope." Alfred denied him quickly as he climbed from the vehicle. He sank an arm beneath the Canadian's back, able to haul the other nation out onto his shoulder without any trouble. "No more walking for you for a while, Matt." The American saw that Arthur was retrieving their bags from the jeep, leading the way towards the door of the cabin.

The Englishman tested the front door, sighing. "Bollocks. It's locked. Perhaps we should try another one."

Arthur had to dart back a full step as a long leg kicked past him, effectively splintering the area around the lock. He looked back to Alfred as the American smiled wryly. "Oops. Look like I broke it. Guess we might as well just go inside."

"Breaking and entering is a naughty habit, Alfred." Arthur scolded him. Still, the American had removed the only obstacle keeping them outside. He pushed the door open, holding it so that Alfred could bring Matthew into the cabin. "Just set him on the floor for now. I'll get the bedding ready while you get a fire going, all right?"

Both nations worked quickly to prepare their shelter for the night. Arthur had managed to get the blankets spread out on the floor by the time the cabin became lit up by the orange glow of the flames in the fireplace. Alfred tended the fire with confidence until the room that they were settled in finally felt comfortably warm. When they were done, and Matthew was wrapped up snugly within some blankets to sleep, Arthur joined Alfred in front of the fire, sitting down beside the American. "Good Lord. Isn't it funny how having a roof over your head feels like a luxury?"

Alfred chuckled quietly, mindful of his brother sleeping a few feet away. "I was just thinking that myself. Normally, I just take it for granted. I've lived inside of places for so long that I forget what it was like to live outside of them. Living outside never bothered me when I was just a little kid. If I had to do it now, I think I'd probably hate it."

"That's right – you were living outside in the wilderness before I found you, weren't you?" Arthur mused, nostalgia creeping into his voice. "Such a little wild child. Thank our lucky stars that I turned you towards civilized living."

The mention of their past made both men fall silent. Centuries had passed and it was still a tender subject. Arthur felt melancholy seeping through him, frowning towards the fire.

Finally, Alfred murmured, "We should talk about it."

"There's nothing to discuss." Arthur said dismissively. "It's ancient history."

"Bullshit. If it were that 'ancient', then we wouldn't be sitting here feeling bad, would we?"

"Let me rephrase myself, then: 'Nothing good will come of us discussing it'. I would rather not get into an argument with you while your brother is trying to sleep. I know that you said that you were determined for us to 'work things out', but now hardly seems an appropriate time."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "You could always try just _listening_ for a change, instead of opening your mouth to contradict everything I say. Do you think you could control your temper long enough to even give me the chance?"

"Prick." That was Arthur's immediate answer. He folded his arms across his chest, twisting himself so that he could look at the other man. Arthur had little confidence that this was going to lead anywhere pleasant. Still, Alfred had that determined look on his face that hinted that he was going to keep persisting with the subject until he'd finally have his say. "Fine. Blow my mind. I'll hold my tongue as best I can until you're finished getting all your nonsense out."

"Okay, thanks." Alfred nodded gratefully. Then he went quiet again as he tried to search his brain for the best way to start. That silence stretched on long enough that Arthur was ready to give up on it completely, when Alfred suddenly spoke in that distant manner that he'd done back in Geneva.

"Do you want to know why I picked you over France that day?"

Out of all the things that could have come out of the American's mouth, that particular question managed to catch Arthur off-guard. "What? Alfred, that—"

"Quiet. I'm talking now, right?" Alfred shushed him with a wave of his hand. "After all these years, I still remember what it was like the first day that I woke up as myself. It was so frightening that I probably got traumatized and it has stuck with me. Everything isn't entirely clear – just patches of memory here and there. I remember that I spent the first few days running around everywhere as I learned about the world around me."

"The environment didn't alarm me. Neither did the animals that I came across. It all felt perfectly natural to me from the start. Even as a child, on some level I must have known that it was all just part of what I was. I had fun making new discoveries all by myself. I learned so much on my own that I might not have if I wasn't such a precocious explorer."

"Then, one day, I came across people. They were different from me – I knew that right away. And even though they were friendly, giving me food and shelter, something was missing from my interacting with them that I couldn't place my finger on. I began to wonder if there was anyone else like me out in the world, or if I was the only one. It was a profound realization for a child to have; at the time, I don't think it really sunk in to me because I was too young to know what that meant."

"Out of nowhere one day, I felt the pull. You know – the one we feel when another nation is around? What's up with that, anyway?"

Arthur had been so absorbed in Alfred's story that he didn't realize that the American was posing him a question. "Oh, that? I don't… I don't exactly know myself. There have been theories or two tossed around about it being some underlying instinct for us nations. Sort of like a survival mechanism to prevent us from coming under attack from another without some kind of warning. Or it might be because we all originated from the same source and are simply linked together somehow. I confess that I have never spared it much thought. Anyway, you were saying?"

"Right. So, yeah, I felt that pull one day and ended up coming into contact with Sweden and Finland. They didn't seem very welcoming. Sweden didn't, anyway. So I kept my distance from them and only wandered by occasionally to see what they were up to. Even though I did not approach them, it still felt nice to be in the same vicinity as others who were like me. I think Finland wanted to meet me, but he was always too distracted by Sweden."

"Then one day I came back to see them but they were gone. Their house was in ruins. It was pretty alarming to see when you're just a little kid. I knew that they had left and it seemed that they weren't going to come back. So I went back to doing my own thing."

Alfred smirked. "I was surprised when Finland came back one morning and brought with him a couple of shady characters. One who looked like a woman but had a man's voice, and the other who looked like a man but had these intimidating eyebrows." He laughed when Arthur swatted at him, easily deflecting the blow with an upraised hand.

"You two started arguing, and it took me a while to realize that I was expected to make some choice between the both of you. I didn't understand what that meant. If I knew then what I know now, I would have told you both to get the fuck off my land. I didn't, of course, and it finally came down to me making my decision."

"I was totally ready to go with France. The food aside, there was the fact that you had managed to scare the shit out of me within the first few minutes. What kid would have picked the scary man over the womanly one that had good food to offer? It should have been a no-brainer."

"Yet you chose me." Arthur said faintly.

"Yes. I did. And do you know why?"

Arthur solemnly shook his head. "I… did wonder why, on occasion. I just never could bring myself to ask."

"I picked you because, when I saw you sitting there all gloomy and dejected, I saw something that was more important than the scary behavior and big eyebrows."

"Which was…?"

"You looked as lonely as I felt." Alfred said with a tiny, wistful smile. His mottled eyes were searching Arthur's face, and he wished that he could see well enough to judge the expression that was on it. "And I thought, in my naïve child's way, that if I could make you not feel lonely, then maybe I would no longer feel lonely myself."

"I see." Arthur felt his chest tightening with those words. A lump had formed in his throat, so he didn't trust himself to say anything more than that. He merely nodded to let Alfred know that he understood what the other nation was saying.

"So now you might understand a little better about why I resent you so much." Alfred said lightly.

That dissolved some of Arthur's emotions, blinking confusedly at the other nation. "Wait, what? How the hell does one subject lead so abruptly into the other? That doesn't make sense, Alfred."

"Eh. That's a talk for another night." Alfred yawned, stretching his arms out. "I'm getting too tired. If I were to keep going, I doubt I'd be able to string words together in a lucid manner for very much longer. Let's go to bed."

"I…" Arthur growled in frustration. He felt like he'd been set up somehow. Now he was going to be dwelling on it until Alfred properly explained himself. "Fine. But I expect you to give me your reasons very soon."

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe." Alfred crawled over to his own blankets, slipping inside of them and rolling around a little until he had formed a nice cocoon around himself.

Arthur sat by the fire scowling for the next hour while the American fell asleep.

* * *

They made better time after securing the jeep. It kept them from having to stop for breaks as often, plus the vehicle was carrying them over the miles that much faster. Eventually, though, it would only carry them as far as the gas in the tank lasted. Arthur frowned at the gauge as he drove after a few days. "We'll be out of gas soon. Once that happens then we'll have no choice but to return to crossing on foot."

"Could we find gas in one of the larger cities?" Matthew asked curiously from the backseat.

"Probably. But we'll have to enter the nuclear hot zone." Arthur looked over at Alfred beside him. "Are you absolutely sure that it won't kill us to go into a nuclear area?"

"It never killed me. We're not humans. We're nations." Alfred shrugged. "If we can find some gas for the jeep then that will shorten our trip that much more. We might even be able to track down a few cans to keep as stockpile to prevent having to stop again later."

"Very well. Matthew, could you kindly retrieve the map from my bag? Look to see if we are close to any major cities. We can be quick and be in and out of the area, just in case."

Matthew complied with the other nation's request. He unfolded the map across his lap to check it out. "Actually, we're not very far outside of Moscow. If we head further south then we should reach the capital in under an hour. Do you think we have enough gas to make it that far?"

"I can't say for sure." Arthur shook his head, turning the wheel to change their direction. "We'll just have to get as close as we can. If we run out then we will just have to walk the rest of the way."

They drove for another number of miles, when the landscape around them began to cloud over with a downpour of white flakes. Arthur clucked his tongue. "Bugger. The snow is getting thick. I don't know that I'll be able to see well enough to drive if this keeps up."

Alfred raised his hand up from his side. He turned his palm up towards the sky, catching some of the flakes on its surface. Bringing it up closer to his face, the American shook his head. "It's not snow, Arthur. It's ash from the fallout."

He looked solemnly over at the Englishman. "We're in the nuclear zone."


	8. Chapter 8

I have been writing while listening to fireworks exploding outside of my house for the past three days. Oi. I guess this could be in honor of Alfred's birthday tomorrow?

This installment seems so long - and yet it's the first that I'm uncertain about. A few of you already guessed what was coming. I hope that it lives up to your expectations.

* * *

This time, Alfred was the one who ventured into the foreign territory. Arthur and Matthew had stayed behind with the jeep, the pair of them struggling to get a tarp over the top of the vehicle to keep it from piling up with ash. He suspected that neither of them could really work up enough courage to walk into a nuclear blast zone – and Alfred certainly couldn't blame them for wanting to stay behind. Considering the lack of visibility in the downpour of ash, it wasn't as if they would have any better chance of seeing than he did.

Alfred had been to Moscow a handful of times during his lifetime. He remembered that one of them had been a tense diplomatic meeting between leaders, while the other one had come as a surprising invitation from Russia himself. Ivan had said that it was to improve on their relations, but Alfred had always suspected that the Russian just wanted to show off. Or it had been a failed ploy on Ivan's part to try and win America over to his side so that they could effectively 'become one'.

Moscow looked far different than he remembered. The buildings were hollow, blackened shells in the background. The splendor of the domed roofs had been eradicated. Where tourists once flocked, there was only a black patch of earth. It was eerily still and deadly silent - just one big, unending wasteland of winter white.

This was what it was supposed to be like at the end of the world.

Alfred shook his head when the ash piled up thickly in his hair, shaking it off of him. He could feel the destruction as if it were a palpable force in the air around where he walked. There was a strange tingling against his skin where it was exposed to the elements. Alfred could feel that unnatural energy licking at him. If he were nothing more than a normal human being, it probably would have melted all his flesh off by now. Instead it just tickled.

As he wandered the streets of Moscow's graveyard, Alfred checked the vehicles that sat along the sides of the streets, the middle of the intersections, even the few that had still been in motion when the blast hit and had driven into the buildings nearby. None of them were in any condition for him to salvage gasoline from. He had to go deeper into the city to try and locate a service station – they had those in Russia, didn't they? If he could access one of their gas lines, then he'd have more than enough to take back with him.

Intent as he was upon his mission, something was nagging at him. It was a minor distraction that Alfred tried to overlook. He couldn't allow himself to lose his focus. His attention span sometimes just wouldn't last as long as he liked.

The American hurried down a few more blocks, turning around a corner. He found exactly what he was looking for. Alfred congratulated himself as he approached the gutted relic of a gas station. The pumps themselves looked like they had exploded during the attack. If he were lucky, then the flames would not have spread down into the lines and destroyed the fuel. Though Alfred wagered that if that had happened then there would have been a much larger crater where the inevitable explosion destroyed the surrounding area more so than it looked. It was his best chance.

There should have been caps on the ground to deposit the fuel into. Alfred started to push at the ash with his foot to try and expose them. Considering the depth of the ash, and the difficulty in seeing where the area of the gas station actually ended, it wasn't proving easy for him to do. Alfred grunted in frustration as his searching foot kept not turning up anything.

He was about to kick another segment of ash aside when something snared his attention. Alfred looked up sharply. Had he heard a noise? The American held his breath, straining his ears in the silence, certain that his hearing had just been playing tricks on him. There was nothing.

Maybe being in a nuclear zone was having an effect on his brain? It was certainly disorienting to be in the midst of this silent chaos. Alfred knew that he'd gotten himself turned around a few times in the thick haze of the falling ash. He turned back to his task with renewed determination, kicking away another blanket of debris.

Bingo!

Alfred crouched down beside the colored metal plate that had been revealed. He brushed the ash aside with his hands to uncover it completely. Now he was going to need to locate something that he could use to siphon out the gas from below. Alfred looked around the immediate area. One of the tubes still appeared to be functional. The American inspected it for any holes before casually ripping it free from the above ground pumps.

"Hm. Gonna need something to put the gas in." There were no gas cans that he could see. Alfred had to do more searching. He began to walk around the station to try and find a barrel, or some containers – anything that he could transport the fuel in.

The American ambled a little further past the gas station, where there was a fence that separated it from the next space. Alfred realized that it was the remains of a playground. He tried not to look at it much. Had there been children playing here on that day? Did they understand why something so terrible had happened to them? Did it hurt when they died?

Alfred shook his head to clear it. So much for not being freaked out. If he wasn't careful, he was probably going to start thinking that the place was haunted, and then Alfred was going to run the hell right out of Moscow, gas or not.

He brightened as he nearly ran into some old barrels standing against the fence. His luck was improving. Alfred took hold of one of them to test its weight and was glad to find that it was empty. He slid his arms around the width of the barrel, plucking it up from the ground so that the ash went cascading off it.

Then he heard the sound again and dropped the barrel. It thumped dully onto the ash-coated ground beside his feet. Alfred knew that he hadn't just imagined it. Even though Arthur had kept his handgun back with the jeep, the American still had another smaller handgun in his leg holster. He withdrew it silently, turning in a slow circle as he tried to define the location of the noise.

It sounded like something creaking. The noise was steady now. Like it knew that it had his attention. Alfred's complete turn left him pointing his gun in the direction of that nearby playground.

Fuck! It was haunted after all! Ghosts of dead children were coming from beyond to torment him! He knew it. Alfred swallowed thickly, edging forward towards the vague outlines of the playground equipment with his gun drawn. Right now he wished more than anything that he had full use of his eyes. The melted metal of the toys around him looked malicious in his hazy vision.

The noise grew louder. Creak. Creak.

There was a break in the flurries of ash. Alfred was able to make out a vague outline just ahead of him. His face had become a mask of horror as he found himself being lured, one step at a time, towards the twisted ruin of a swing set.

One of those swings was moving. The sound of the chain was the source of the noise.

It was swinging because there was someone in it.

Alfred gripped his gun in both hands to steady the weapon. He walked up to that swing set with silent footfalls. His mind, though, was anything but quiet. Internally, he was screaming at himself to get out. Get the fuck out. Forget the gas, forget his pride – just run back to where the others were waiting and accept the fact that he had failed. He needed to leave as soon as he could, because there was something very, very wrong here.

The figure was shadowed in front of him, until Alfred closed in. It was a boy – it had to be. Couldn't have been more than a few feet tall. Its feet couldn't even touch the ground below the swing that it sat in.

_Something very, very wrong. _

Alfred stopped just behind the small figure. He cocked his gun, the noise reverberating through the silence of the playground. The boy's swing slowed to a stop shortly after, small pale fingers flexing tightly on the links of the chains. Alfred's chest was heaving unsteadily, barely constrained panic making him dizzy as he leveled his gun directly at the base of that child's head. "Who… the hell are you?"

It was a silly question, really – because he already knew the answer.

He knew it even before the boy on the swing shook off a layer of ash like a duck shaking away water; the pale white did not leave that mop of hair because that was its natural color. Alfred knew even before the boy twisted around on the swing to look back at him over a slim shoulder, face partially obscured by the frayed fabric of a scarf. Knew even before the kid raised violet eyes up to lock with his own.

Those violet eyes narrowed momentarily as they calmly absorbed the close proximity of that gun that was now focused in front of his nose. Then they shut completely as an angel's smile blossomed over that boyish face. "Come to finish the job, da?"

Alfred lowered the gun in mute shock, unable to do anything else except stare down at the little boy that had once been a giant. "….Holy shit.."

* * *

"I don't understand. How the hell did you end up... this way?" Alfred tried to fill their silence as much as possible, even while waiting for the last of the gas to filter up. He could not look away from the small figure lurking at his side. Ivan was almost dwarfed by the barrel that the Russian youth was keeping hold of to prevent it from tipping.

The boy tore his stare from where he'd been watching the fuel spilling into the barrel. He peered up at the American as if he didn't understand the question. "Hm? Ah..." Ivan frowned back down as he resumed tracking that progress. "Not sure." His words were clipped with uncertainty, as if his grasp on English had lapsed, the boy's accent thicker than Alfred had ever remembered it being in all the time he'd known the other nation. "I remember the bombs coming. They hit and everything went dark. I woke some days later and I looked like this."

Ivan flexed his fingers as though testing them out, the slim little digits still quite agile despite their shorter lengths. "I walked around after that. Tried to find Ukraine – even Belarus. But I knew that I would not find them. I could not feel them anymore." Violet eyes lifted back to Alfred's face. "My sisters are dead, da?"

"Um. Yeah. They got caught up in the blasts from the bombs." Alfred wasn't sure how to break the news. He certainly didn't feel that the other nation deserved any sympathy about it. So he just shrugged. "I had to come through the base of Belarus to get here. It's pretty much a wasteland. Just like this place."

Grunting absently, Ivan plucked the tube out of the top of the barrel when it was full. He negligently tossed it to the side without watching to see where it fell as he forced the cap into place to seal the gas inside. The boy thumped his hand against the side of the barrel. "There. All done. That's all you need?"

"That'll do it." Alfred nodded. He tipped the barrel over onto its side, checking to make sure that it was sealed well enough to avoid anything leaking out. From here, he'd be able to roll it back to the jeep without much trouble. The American nudged it forward with his foot so that it went spinning forward a ways.

"America has still not explained why he is in Moscow. Why he has come to visit Russia." Ivan remarked casually.

"I didn't come to visit you. I'm passing through on my way to China. He needs to be rescued, so I volunteered for the job."

"America is still playing the hero of the world, da?"

Alfred scowled. "I'm not doing this on my own. Arthur and Matthew are with me. They're waiting back at the jeep. I need to return to them with this gas so that we can continue on our way." He looked at the boy for a minute then turned towards the barrel, starting to roll it forward.

Ivan hurried along with him, walking briskly in order to keep pace with the American's long strides. "England and Canada have come to Russia as well? I have not seen Canada in a long time. Do you think he will-?"

Thrusting the barrel ahead of him down the street, Alfred whirled around on the youth, anger exploding out of him, unable to restrain it any longer now that the shock of the Russian's transformation had worn off. "Russia! What the fuck? How the hell can you just stand here trying to make small talk when you single-handedly destroyed so much of the world? You blew an entire chunk of my states off the map! Your bombs landed upon and wounded many nations! The only reason why I haven't shot your brains out all over the pavement is because I have an issue with shooting children."

Ivan had the audacity to look surprised by his outburst. Alfred combed his fingers swiftly through his hair as he glared venomously down at the small nation. "You don't even have the _right_ to still be here! You should be dead – you deserve to be fucking dead!" His temper really did get the better of him at that point, as Alfred seized a handful of that frayed scarf and used it to lift the boy up off his feet. He ignored the quiet choked sound that Ivan made, shaking him roughly. "Matthew can't _walk _right because of you. I can't _see_ right because of you. You're a monster and I hope that this place eventually suffocates the life out of you so that you can burn in hell where you belong."

He expected some response out of the boy for his words. What he didn't expect was that after some feeble attempts to free himself from the American's grip, Ivan eventually just resorted to sinking his teeth into Alfred's hand. The American yelped in pain and let him drop, Alfred curling his hand protectively against his chest. "You... you little _shit_!"

Ivan spit harshly on the ground. Apparently the rabid little guy didn't like the taste of American. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring back up at Alfred as if the difference in height didn't even matter. "America is quite finished, da?" One of his stubby fingers jabbed hard into Alfred's ribs. "You have no room to accuse me. How many bombs did _you_ drop, America?"

"That's hardly the point!"

"No. It is very much the point." Ivan retorted. "American leaders sent many bombs to small countries in Middle East, da? Russian leaders send nuclear missiles to America – because America needed to learn. America cannot destroy the world without consequence. Russia taught that."

Alfred scowled at the boy's implication. "Oh. I see. So you decided that you were going to teach me a lesson, is that it? Fuck you."

"Will America be dropping more nuclear missiles?"

"Are you crazy?" Alfred gestured violently around them with his unwounded hand. "Look at this place! This is the result of our destruction!"

"It horrifies you?"

"How could it not?"

Ivan nodded solemnly. "Then America learnt the lesson, just as Russia intended."

Alfred snorted derisively. He threw his hand up in the air in a gesture to physically dismiss the conversation. Child or not, Russia really was begging for a bullet. Out here in the middle of nowhere, no one would even have known about such an un-heroic deed. The American stalked in the direction of the barrel, before another piece of the argument brought him back towards the boy. "Okay, okay. Fine. Let's say I accept your excuse that you blew up my land 'to teach me a lesson'. What sort of justification do you have for dropping bombs on the other nations who weren't even involved in this conflict?"

Ivan brushed a layer of ash off the sleeve of his jacket. "Same reason."

"They weren't even dropping bombs, Russia!"

"Not that day, no." Violet eyes swelled open. They looked two sizes too big in that round face. "That does not mean that they would not do so eventually." Alfred's look of disgust frustrated the boy, as Ivan scoffed. "Do not act so naïve, America. Pretending that they are above such destruction. Russia's bombs were sent as a warning to them – just a warning. Russia's intent was to show them what their destruction would cause if they ever thought to destroy another."

"Well, I think it should be obvious to you exactly how much they appreciated your lesson."

"Da." Ivan looked around them sadly. "They ganged up on Russia and blew up my house. My sisters. Made me..." He gestured towards himself, "this way. Russia learnt his own lesson."

"I'm glad that them blowing you to bits taught you something. Maybe you'll remember that next time you decide to try and play 'World Teacher'." Alfred shook his head. "I'm out of here. Enjoy playing in your nuclear winter, Russia."

Ivan's eyes widened as the taller nation turned to go. One of his small hands reached for Alfred's sleeve, before he hesitated. "America... is leaving me here?"

"Of course I am leaving you here, you little son of a bitch." Alfred ignored that outstretched hand as he returned to the barrel, rolling it forward as he spoke to the boy over his shoulder. "I don't owe you any favors. Find your own damn way by yourself."

"Oh. Okay. Da." The boy nodded, dropping his hand to his side.

Russia gathered his jacket closer around his frame and stepped over to the nearby curb. Ivan watched as the American continued to roll that barrel away, until Alfred was swallowed up in the curtain of ash. The American was gone, and he was once again alone in the middle of a nuclear crater that had once been his capital.

Ivan sat down slowly on the curb and pulled his legs up to his chest with a huff of breath, pawing at his scarf to inch it higher up over his face. He hadn't wanted to go with the American anyway. It would have been loud and troublesome, not at all like his quiet little place here on earth. Now that the world had gone still again, Ivan shut his eyes and listened to the silence.

With his eyes closed, it took him completely by surprise when a hand roughly snatched onto the back of his jacket. Ivan squawked in alarm as he found himself getting yanked up from the ground. He was propelled unceremoniously towards the middle of the street, arms pin-wheeling as he tried to keep from falling over. However, he failed to maintain his balance, landing heavily and sending up a cloud of ash. Ivan sputtered as some of it got into his mouth, spitting it out before looking wildly up at his assailant.

Alfred had returned. He bent over the fallen boy, pointing his finger into Ivan's face, angry. "Don't take this as an act of kindness. You don't deserve kindness from me. I just decided to take you with us – but only for one reason: When we return to Geneva, you will take whatever punishment the nations decide to give you. Do you understand me, you little Commie midget?"

"Da..." Ivan breathed out, eyes so wide that they seemed to swallow up his face. He nodded once, firmly, to show that he did indeed understand.

The American took hold of him by his armpit, hauling him up to his feet with a frown. "Just so long as we're clear. Now help me with the damned barrel, because I can't see where the hell I'm going with it." He pushed Ivan forward ahead of him, so that the two of them started in the correct direction down the street.

* * *

"Bloody America is taking his sweet time." Arthur complained at a growl. He kept his arms folded tightly against his chest, trying to keep his shivering down to a minimum. "Daft prick probably got lost."

"He'll find his way back." Matthew assured the other nation. He didn't feel the chill as deeply as Arthur. Either because he was used to the similar climate back home, or else due to the fact that the pain pills made him feel detached from his limbs. "He's not that big of an idiot. Er… not all the time, anyway."

"I should go after him." The elder nation decided. Arthur unfolded from his tight ball and started climbing out of the driver's seat of the jeep.

Matthew grabbed hold of Arthur by the back of his hood, causing the Englishman to strain his limbs in the air before catching on to the fact that he wasn't making any progress with getting out of the vehicle. "Just relax, Arthur. Give him a little more time. He's more resilient than you give him credit for. Alfred can get by just fine all on his own."

Arthur returned to his seat with a defeated slump. "I know that. Trust me. I know better than anyone how irritatingly self-reliant that brat can be. Is it silly that I still worry, regardless of that knowledge?"

"Nah." Matthew shook his head. "I worry about him too."

The Canadian had focused back out the side of the jeep, squinting through his glasses to try and catch some sign of his brother within all that mess of falling ash. It was maddening, having to wait in this deathly still place. Somehow, Matthew found it difficult to keep anchored to the belief that there could be any spot on the planet that looked like this. His eyes drifted across the muddled landscape, heavy with melancholy.

Arthur suddenly straightened in his seat. The Englishman patted Matthew's closest arm to get his attention, pointing the Canadian's gaze towards the world outside. "Am I seeing things, or does that look like him?"

Matthew leaned across the other nation to peer in that direction. He smiled. "That's him! He made it back after all."

They both climbed out of their respective sides of the vehicle, Arthur not wasting any time as he hurried towards the American's hazy figure. He called to Alfred. "We're right here, Alfred!" His forward momentum crept to a stop as his eyes adjusted and he saw that the American was not alone.

Arthur was glued to the spot by the surreal vision of Alfred rolling a barrel towards him, passing him to the jeep. He offered no words, no explanations, as the American left the Englishman standing in place. Arthur was too preoccupied to complain, considering that he found a small, oddly familiar boy coming to stand directly in front of him.

Russia's head tilted backwards as he smiled politely up to England. "Hello, England! I helped America to get some gas for you." He seemed confused by the other nation's lack of a response. Ivan lifted a gloved hand, waving it up and down in front of those bulging green eyes. Then he shrugged, patted Arthur on the arm and continued on his way to the jeep.

Arthur shook himself free of his daze as he heard the Russian speaking brightly to Matthew. He went straight to where Alfred was fumbling with the gas cap, voice full of questions. "Alfred…?"

"I couldn't just leave him. I tried." The American said quickly. "Help hold the funnel for me, would you?"

"It hasn't slipped your mind, I hope, the degree of devastation that he wrought?" Arthur moved to assist him when Alfred seemed on the verge of spilling gas all down the side of the vehicle. He turned his face away from the fumes of the fuel, eyes angling to keep themselves on the American.

"Of course not. I already vented on him a bit for it, too." Alfred sounded weary, as if having the older nation questioning his motives was tiring him out. "It's not my place to mete out justice on his ass. The right thing to do is to take him back to Geneva with us. He can face a proper tribunal of the other nations." Alfred met the other nation's eyes with a faint smile. "That's what _you_ would do, right?"

Arthur sighed. The man had a point. "I suppose… Though I admit that I would be highly tempted to shoot him the entire time."

"It crossed my mind."

They heard Ivan giggle from the other side of the jeep, the boy's voice floating to them. "You are so skittish, Canada! Russia is not going to hurt you."

Alfred glowered in that general direction, before muttering. "Of course it's still not too late to change my mind."

* * *

The atmosphere of the jeep had become incredibly tense. Arthur kept darting looks in the mirror to check on the small nation in the backseat behind him. Mostly out of concern for Alfred's safety.

Their seating arrangements had changed before they started out again with a full tank of gas. Matthew had been too nervous to stay in the back of the vehicle, especially knowing that he would be sitting beside the tiny Russian. The Canadian had his crossbow resting across his lap, fingers twitching against it as if he were going to dispatch of the other nation at any time.

Alfred was not very comfortable himself. The American had tried to stretch out as much as he could, arms resting on either side of his body as he divided his attention between the snowy world rushing by outside and the boy beside him. His youthful face was troubled. Arthur wondered if he was still struggling to know if he had made the right decision or not in bringing Russia with them.

He also looked annoyed that he'd somehow ended up becoming Ivan's pillow. The small nation had fallen fast asleep after only a few miles of driving. He'd initially been sitting upright, head lolling uncomfortably with every bump of the vehicle. Eventually, the little Russian had simply tipped over against Alfred's side and made himself cozy.

It might have been adorable if it wasn't downright frightening.

Arthur looked over to Matthew. "Once we're back out of the nuclear zone, we should probably stop for the night. I don't know about you boys, but I'm knackered."

"Good. I'm ready to be out of this jeep and away from _that_." The Canadian jutted his chin towards the backseat. He twisted around to glare back at his brother. "I still don't get why the hell you decided to bring him. Are you _trying_ to make me as miserable as possible?"

"Aw, come on." Alfred looked wounded. "The one time that I decide to do the proper, diplomatic thing, rather than my typical blow-him-up deal, you guys do nothing but complain about it."

"There's diplomacy and then there's insanity." Arthur pointed out to him.

"Are you saying that I didn't do the right thing, Arthur?" Alfred demanded with a raised eyebrow.

Shaking his head, the Englishman sighed. "Not at all. You did the right thing, America. I just wish that you hadn't saved that momentous occasion up for this instance."

"I'll take responsibility for the little bastard." The American promised. "And if he starts behaving in any way that I don't like then I will personally boot his ass back to Moscow."

Matthew settled back in his seat and sulked. Arthur gave Alfred a doubtful glance in the mirror before returning his attention to the road. His promise seemed to satisfy them both for now. They rode in silence for a while longer, until Alfred's voice warbled in complaint from out of the back.

"Ewww! He's drooling on me!"

* * *

It was snowing that night when they finally located a good spot to camp. There were plenty of large trees to catch the falling flakes in their leafy branches. The space beneath them was free of snow, dry, and formed its own natural shelter for them to use. Arthur and Alfred set up everything for the night. They unfolded one of the tightly packed tarps from Matthew's bag, securing an end to two separate trees to set up a barrier against the wind that was blowing into their campsite to prevent the fire from going out.

Matthew got the fire started with Ivan's assistance. The Russian boy had happily went about gathering some wood, snapping small branches over his knee to make some fodder to build the blaze with. For some reason, watching Ivan viciously break twigs in half with a smile on his face just made Matthew that much more uncomfortable. He felt relieved when Alfred ordered Ivan away to help him get the jeep covered with another tarp to keep it from filling with snow overnight.

Once they were finished with their tasks, they fell into an uneasy silence that only Ivan seemed immune to. The boy merely sat on his side of the fire without so much as a shiver in the cold and watched the other three sit closely together. Temperatures were worse now that they had exited the nuclear zone. The chill of the air seemed to bite at their flesh. For some reason, that led to Alfred becoming sandwiched between the other two nations. "Am I really that warm?"

"God yes." Matthew breathed out happily as he huddled into his brother's right side. "I feel like I'm turning into an icicle, but you feel like you've been hanging out in some tropical beach instead of snowy Russia."

"Eh. It's summer back home." Alfred murmured. "I just tend to run warmer during the season. Probably all that hot, arid desert land on my southern front."

"I would kill for a cup of hot tea right now." Arthur lamented from his other side. "Nothing too fanciful, mind you – just a plain, boring, herbal blend of some sort."

"They all taste like that to me. Do you live on tea?" Alfred asked him dryly.

"Do you live on hamburgers?"

"Point taken."

Ivan jumped up from his spot, causing the other three to tense instinctively. The boy smiled brightly over at the Englishman. "I'm hungry. I will go get some dinner for us now, da?"

Arthur offered the youth a tense smile. "You're a bit small to go off by yourself, Russia. I can go handle that as soon as I warm my bones up, all right?"

The Russian waved him off. "I will be just fine. I have already been hunting like this. It will take Russia no time at all – I know this place very well."

"Ivan…" Arthur was warming up his stern tone of voice.

Alfred thrust a dismissive hand through the air. "Let him go run around the woods, Arthur. If he gets hurt or eaten by a wild beast, all the better for us."

"America is so mean." Ivan pouted.

"That's me. A big old meanie." Alfred drawled, wincing as Matthew swatted him on the arm.

The boy shook his finger in the American's direction. "If I come back with good food, America will apologize. Or he will not get any." Ivan said firmly, before he tucked the folds of his scarf more securely around his face. He did not give Alfred any time to retort, as the boy slipped out through the tarp, ducking out into the falling snow without any noticeable response to its assault.

"Should we really have let him do that?" Matthew asked tentatively. "I mean, even though he is Russia and all, he's just a kid right now. I feel like an ass for letting a child wander around in that weather."

"Are you kidding me? The little shit _lives_ for these elements." Alfred said as he began to poke at the fire with his toe, shifting the wood to give the fire more fuel to burn. "Besides. I haven't seen anything remotely frightening out here, as far as animals go. We've been eating rabbits and foxes ever since we arrived. I doubt Ivan is going to stumble across anything dangerous."

Arthur rolled his eyes at the American's logic. "Just because we haven't encountered any dangerous animals doesn't mean that the beasts don't exist, Alfred. Use your head for a change." He tapped gloved knuckles against the American's head.

Matthew's mouth split open a few seconds later in a yawn. "Hm. I'm going to try to nap a little before he gets back. Or before we have to go search for him, whatever happens first. Wake me up when whichever outcome gets here."

"Need another pill, Matthew?" Alfred asked him.

"I'd rather wait until after I eat. It doesn't hurt too much right now anyway." The Canadian said with a shake of his head. He began to crawl away from beside Alfred to where they'd settled the bedrolls. Within minutes, Matthew had started to doze.

Alfred turned towards Arthur shortly after, grinning crookedly. "Hey Arthur – you wanna cuddle with me again?"

"What?" The Englishman blinked at him balefully. "Don't put it so idiotically. It makes you sound like that wine-guzzling bastard."

Alfred laughed. "Sorry." He lifted his arm up, eyebrows lifting as he offered the shorter nation that space within it.

Arthur scooted over into the length of the American's arm without a word. He squirmed a little to get comfortable on the hard ground. It wasn't as much of a smooth surface as he would have liked. Once he had found the right spot, Arthur finally settled. His gloved hands were stretched out towards the fire to warm them. "Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"What did you mean when you said that I should understand why you resent me?"

Alfred's face scrunched up briefly, tongue sticking out. "Are you still on that? I figured that you would have forgotten about it after all this mess with Russia."

"It's been nagging me. I'm not as forgetful as you. I tend to dwell on things that I think are of importance." Arthur shrugged. "So, will you explain yourself? It's not as if we don't have some time while we wait for Ivan."

"You want to know why I resent you?"

"Naturally! That seems rather unfair, doesn't it? That you think you should have the right to feel any resentment towards me_. I_ am the one that deserves to feel resentful over all of _your_ actions. You're the one that acted against me, after all." Arthur said darkly.

"I know that you resent me. Trust me, Arthur, you've spent the last two hundred and then some years making that very obvious to me and to every other nation." Alfred's voice was thick with sarcasm. "But why the hell would you think that I wouldn't deserve to have any resentment back at you?"

"Because that would be entirely selfish on your part." Arthur explained, his volume falling lower when he realized that it threatened to spike, whispering passionately instead. "I took care of you. I raised you. I gave you a home, an education, safety, direction. I protected you from my enemies, from your enemies. And without so much of a word of gratitude, you repaid all of my efforts by staging a bloody revolution."

Alfred blinked. "So are you mad that I didn't thank you, or are you mad that I revolted?"

"Both!" Arthur turned the full weight of his glare on the American.

Shaking his head, Alfred dropped his arm from around the other nation. "See? We're arguing. I thought that we were going to be able to just talk this through civilly, but your temper really is monumental." He stood up, brushing himself off. "Come on. Let's go a little further into the forest. I don't want to wake Matthew up. We can hash it out there, okay?"

"I don't think that's necessary, Alfred, we—" Arthur was cut off as the American seized his arm, hauling him up to his feet as if he were weightless. The Englishman balked at the treatment, trying to shake off that grip. "Unhand me, America."

"Nope." Alfred cheerfully replied, dragging the other nation along with him. Arthur stumbled while pulled by the arm by the taller American, swearing creatively the entire way. His face flushed scarlet with anger. Alfred ignored the protests and only released the irate Englishman once he was satisfied that they were far enough away.

"This is most uncalled for!" Arthur spat in his anger, livid. "I am not going to tolerate being bullied by you whenever you feel like it, America. Do not think that I will allow you to simply toss me about like some sort of inferior." He tugged his jacket to straighten it, green eyes blazing like fire in his face.

"You want to hit me?" Alfred placed his hands on his hips with no trace of fear in the face of that rage.

Arthur nodded quickly. "Actually, I would love nothing more than to beat you to a bloody pulp, you little ungrateful brat."

"So do it."

That distracted Arthur from his anger. "What?"

"If beating the shit out of me will make you feel better about everything, then I am willing to take one for the team." Alfred shrugged.

Arthur gawked at the American with an open mouth. Was the prat really just intending to stand there and allow him to beat him up? Alfred was clueless enough to probably think that would be a solution. He'd been roughhousing with other nations far too long as a means to solve problems. Arthur curled his hands into fists and turned his back on the American while exhaling a breath that made his chest heave. "Stupid. Stupid, stupid America."

He glared off into the distant woods as he tried to get his temper back under his control. Alfred's offer had jarred his sense of reason back into order, the Englishman working to restore his composure. Not that it was easy, given that it was the American who had riled it yet again. Arthur bit on his bottom lip, not even bothering to look back at the other nation as he spoke quietly, voice trembling with the last vestiges of anger. "I'm not… not going to engage in a battle of fisticuffs with you, Alfred. That isn't going to solve anything."

Arthur didn't hear the American move towards him, but all at once he became aware of that warm presence coming up directly behind his back. He was stiff all over, too stiff to even make a move to acknowledge it. Even when Alfred's arms slid around him from behind, Arthur could not allow himself to relax into the unexpected embrace that the American enfolded him with. Even if he'd already lost his anger the instant that Alfred had touched him, Arthur was too afraid to move, too afraid that he'd somehow make some motion that the American would take as a sign of discouragement.

Green eyes pulsed wide as he felt Alfred drawing him in tight against the warmth of his chest. The American's chin perched lightly on the top of his shoulder, Alfred tall enough that he could fold over the Englishman in such a way without any trouble. He squeezed Arthur cautiously, whispering. "Okay. So beating the shit out of me won't help you. Are you at least open to me trying a different approach?" Alfred's breath tickled against his ear as the American spoke. Arthur fought not to lean it in that direction. He could not find words enough to speak, so Arthur just turned his face a little to that side to silently prompt Alfred to continue.

"I'm sorry." Alfred said softly. "I'm sorry that I was ungrateful. I'm sorry that I didn't turn out the way you'd hoped. I'm sorry that I'm such a pain in the ass – though personally I think that's part of what makes my personality so awesome." He squeezed the Englishman again, holding him in that tightened embrace as he continued. "I'm not sorry that I revolted. I will never regret being free, not for even an instant. But I am sorry that, by doing it, I managed to hurt you so badly that even after two centuries you still can't make peace with what happened."

"America…" Arthur barely had enough air in his chest to whisper the name, so it came out breathless. Tears stung his eyes. He really did need to work on controlling his emotions better than this.

Alfred sighed. "I know that an apology isn't going to fix everything in an instant. But it's a really good start, isn't it? Maybe if I weren't such a prideful idiot, I might have thought to do it years ago. However, you need to sit down and think about your side of things, and maybe one of these days you'll realize that you owe me an apology too." He felt Arthur trembling, unable to see his face clearly, hearing a sound coming from the older nation that was easily placed. "Arthur, are you crying?"

"No." Arthur denied tearfully. He rubbed at his eyes with his hands, gloves soaking up the warm moisture of tears that had begun to slide down his cheeks. "I'm not… not crying." He hiccupped thickly, scrubbing at his face in desperation.

"Sure you're not." Alfred couldn't help a smile at the obvious lie. He slid his arms back, hands touching lightly to the outside of Arthur's shoulders. "Hey. Turn around, Arthur."

The Englishman grudgingly allowed himself to be turned around by the American, sniffling as he frowned up at the taller nation. Alfred's large hands cupped his face, his hazy eye training as sharp an inspection as it could manage on Arthur. He laughed quietly. "Geez. Cry baby."

Arthur opened his mouth to deny it, when it was covered with a kiss before he could even make a sound. The kiss was chaste, only a brief contact of warmth, before Alfred drew away from him with an uncertain smile. Stepping back from the stunned Englishman, the American rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck with an upraised hand. "A-anyway. We'd better get back to camp. And you'd better get all that snot cleaned up out of your nose before it freezes that way!"

Alfred almost sounded like he would have been interested in seeing that happen. Arthur scowled, punched him in the arm and walked back in the direction of camp while he tended to his face with a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. He wasn't going to analyze what that kiss meant. Not yet. "Don't be so disgusting. Come along, Alfred."

* * *

It was disturbing and yet not so unexpected when they returned to camp only to find that Ivan had somehow managed to drag a dead bear back with him. The little Russian was spattered with blood, wiping it off of his hands in the snow and staining it red in places. Alfred's stomach lurched in response to seeing the large dead animal bleeding out in front of their camp and coloring the snow like some sort of morbid snow cone. "Nasty."

Arthur cupped his chin in a hand, studying the Russian's kill in thinly veiled disbelief. "Well… well done, Ivan. That's quite the catch."

"I was lucky." The Russian boy responded with a shrug, as if it weren't an accomplishment worthy of praise. He reached into the folds of his jacket and drew out a knife about the length of his arm. Ivan smiled brightly. "Time to skin it. I killed it, so I get to have the fun, okay?"

Alfred went a shade paler. He pointed at the kid. "You are so fucked up."

"Ahhh, America has not yet apologized. No dinner for you tonight." Ivan said in a sing-song voice.

The American snorted, then turned his head as he did a double take in the dead animal's direction. "Uh. Is that a… polar bear?"

"Da. I found it searching for fish at the lake nearby. Why?"

Alfred looked quickly in the direction of his sleeping brother. Then he approached Russia with a quick murmur. "Let's get this thing skinned and ready before Canada wakes up. Otherwise, it probably won't be pretty."

"Yeah, okay." Ivan mainly ignored the American, already turning towards the bear to begin his work. He seemed to recollect something important right before he sank the knife in. "Oh. England?"

Having Russia speak his name while brandishing an impressively sized knife made Arthur start to fidget. "Yes?"

The boy reached into his jacket with his free hand, drawing out a pouch that he tossed to the other nation. Ivan smiled lightly as the Englishman caught it. Arthur looked confused as he unwound the drawstring to peek inside at the contents. Then his eyes swung back to Ivan with shock. Ivan laughed lightly. "Don't look so surprised. You wanted them, da?"

"I… did. Thank you very much." Arthur was bewildered, though genuinely grateful.

Alfred sidled up next to the Englishman with a quirked eyebrow. "What did he give you?"

Arthur held the opened bag up to the other nation, growing more and more pleased. "He brought me some herbs to make tea with. That was very thoughtful."

Alfred's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, well – don't forget that it was Russia who gave them to you. He's probably just trying to win you over. Just because he can do nice things on occasion—" Alfred's words were accompanied by a slick, wet sound of a knife sinking into flesh in the background, "—doesn't mean he's stable the rest of the time."

Looking back towards the Russian boy, Alfred scowled. He walked over to the boy with a growl. "Don't play with the fucking food, Russia. Move over."

* * *

A/N: I really have no excuse for Alfred's extensive use of swear words - aside from the fact that I myself have a filthy mouth.

Ivan. Ivan. Not sure... Blegh.


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks to those of you who have been leaving me such encouraging reviews.

I suppose this could be seen as something of an interlude in the adventure? Hope that you enjoy it.

* * *

"We're well over the halfway point." Matthew piped up from his seat. He made a notation on the map with a smile, marking their progress. "If we keep on this steady pace, we should reach the border of Mongolia in around three days."

"At least Mongolia will be a little warmer." Arthur remarked as he drove. "I think that I've seen enough snow to last me for ten or more years. Once we navigate through the mountains, I'll be glad to see some green grass again."

Ivan gripped hold of the driver's seat, pulling himself up to speak to Arthur over the top of it. "The valleys are so pretty. I have often gone just to visit them. I like to explore all the old abandoned villages in the mountains."

He was yanked back down into his seat by Alfred, as the American managed to snag hold of the boy's scarf. "Don't stand up in a moving vehicle. One bump and your midget body will probably go bouncing out."

Despite his harsh words, Alfred's tone didn't have the acidic quality to it that it did days ago. Arthur could hear the subtle difference. Not that he suspected that Alfred had even come close to forgiving Russia – though it at least sounded like he had made some peace with the situation. As far as Arthur was concerned, that was for the best. Listening to America and Russia bickering had worn his nerves thin. This unspoken truce between the two nations was a relief.

Ivan sat in sullen silence after the lecture. He watched as the landscape of his homeland raced by, touching his gaze upon familiar landmarks that dotted the horizon in places. The boy tapped his chin with a small finger before looking quickly towards Alfred. "Hey, America?"

"What is it?" Alfred had tucked his arms in over his torso, staring at the back of Matthew's head in the seat in front of him. He was steadily closing one eye, then the other, switching between them as though conducting a test.

"There is an old cabin of mine near here. Do you think that England will let us stop there to rest for the night? As much as I like camping, it would be nice to sleep in a bed again."

Arthur's eyes shifted in the mirror towards the boy. "You have a home nearby?"

"Da." Ivan nodded. "I have many houses, here and there. This is one I used when I wanted to hide from Belarus for some number of months. There are many rooms there – I always made the Baltics come with me when I went." Somehow, the way he said 'made', sounded suspiciously like 'forced'.

Matthew looked at Arthur with hope etched on his face. "It… would be nice, Arthur. A warm, secure cabin, with beds to sleep on, and maybe we could even finally take a bath."

"You do recall that we're on a rescue mission here, not a pleasure cruise, yes?" Arthur gave the Canadian a look of disapproval.

"China isn't going anywhere." Alfred whined from the backseat. "Matthew's right – we've been at this for too long now. Besides, we would probably be making better time if you didn't drive so slowly. This jeep _can_ go over forty miles an hour, you know."

"Very well!" Arthur glared at the American in the mirror. "You said that we have approximately three days left, correct?" Arthur asked as he weighed the prospect. "I think that we can afford ourselves a little luxury for an evening. We've earned it. Where is the cabin, Ivan?"

"Keep heading this way. I will tell you when to turn. We should be there in no time!"

* * *

True to his word, Ivan directed them right to a sizeable cabin a few minutes away. It was settled atop a small hillside that they had to drive up – whatever roads there might have been were long since obscured by the snow. The outside of the cabin had been neglected for some time. Much of the wood was peeling in places, and wild plants had grown up to surround much of the home. Despite the worn conditions, the cabin looked sturdy and inviting.

Ivan jumped out of the jeep as soon as it stopped. He ran directly to the door, clearing the porch steps in a few lunging hops. The Russian boy disappeared inside before they'd even had a chance to start gathering their things out of the back of the jeep. Matthew quirked a smile as Alfred lifted him out of the vehicle. "Someone's excited about being home, huh?"

"No doubt. I wonder if he's checking to make sure that he hid the bodies?" The American mused, setting the Canadian down. Matthew claimed that his legs were feeling better lately, but Alfred wasn't sure if he trusted his brother's judgment on the matter. "Are you wanting to head inside on your own, or should I carry you?"

"I can do it." Matthew took his bag from his brother as Alfred handed it his way. "I think I'm finally on the better side of healing. Haven't even felt a twinge today."

"Just let me know if that changes. You know that I don't mind." The American told him gently as he shouldered his own bag. He saw that Arthur was already stepping inside to get out of the cold. Alfred waved Matthew ahead of him, following his brother up the porch steps into the cabin.

They could see the main room as soon as they entered. Ivan was in there. The boy was jumping merrily on the large, beige colored sofa that appeared to have been patched in places. He didn't seem to mind the dust that was billowing up each time he jumped, laughing pleasantly. "Bounce, bounce, bounce!"

"It doesn't seem fair that he's so full of energy." Arthur muttered as he set his bag down. He turned back and forth to survey the place. It had certainly seen better days. Still, he'd stayed in worse places. "Russia – do you mind if I look around?"

"Not at all, England!" The boy answered without a break in his steady hopping. "I always wanted to do this, but I was always much too big. I would have broken my couch. But this is just as fun as I thought it would be!"

As Arthur vanished into the other rooms, Matthew hobbled over to one of the faded plush chairs sitting by the empty fireplace. He sat down heavily into it, coughing at the dust that clouded up into his face. Waving his hands desperately to clear the air, Matthew croaked out, "It's a nice little cabin, Ivan. How long have you had it?"

"Can't remember. Years and years." Ivan finally grew tired of jumping and just stood there balanced on the cushions of the sofa. The boy leapt off of it and went directly to where Alfred was standing. He took hold of the American's sleeve, tugging on it. "America. You have not been to this house of Russia's before. I have some things here to show that you will like. You will find this room very enjoyable."

"Gee, I can hardly contain my excitement." Alfred rolled his eyes as he allowed the little Russian to pull him along by his sleeve.

Ivan led him into a room down at the end of the first floor hallway. He pushed the door open with his foot, releasing Alfred so that he could rush inside. The boy swept both arms out to either side in proud presentation. "Here it is. What do you think of it?"

Alfred was astonished (and uncomfortable) to discover that the room contained some sort of bizarre shrine to America. He tried not to let his discomfort show on his face as he came inside to get a better look at everything. There were photographs of his home all over the walls, both stock pictures of the scenery from his states as well as a few photos that looked like they had been taken at the conferences that had been hosted on his territory. Alfred saw a few pieces of baseball equipment on a shelf, along with a football and helmet. There were papers and maps of his homeland sitting atop a small table in the center of the room, a chair tucked in front of it.

A few posters from popular films were tacked on the wall, glossy movie star portraits nearby. There were a couple insignias that looked like they had been stolen from Ford and Chevrolet motor vehicles. Another wall had logos from some American brands: Starbucks, Coca-Cola, Pepsi, and McDonalds. Alfred found himself taking a closer look at a picture of Ronald McDonald posted amongst the chaos. The redheaded clown was in the middle of delivering hamburgers to smiling children, dressed in his obnoxious yellow and red suit. Someone had drawn a scarf around his neck with a pen. No need to guess who that might have been. "Um… Russia…"

"This is where I have been collecting all my souvenirs from my visits to America's home. I had another collection that I'd begun back in my normal house – then Belarus decided to burn it all one day." Ivan sighed.

"I can understand wanting to keep a few mementos on hand, but… this is a little much." Alfred scratched the back of his head. "Personally, I thought Japan was bad at hoarding keepsakes from other nations, but I don't think he ever dedicated a room entirely to me."

The boy began to twist his hands together nervously in front of him. "This is abnormal behavior?"

"Slightly. I mean – on some twisted level – I'm pretty flattered that you've got a room with stuff from my home in it. Everyone loves a hero. They just normally don't express it this way."

"I see." Ivan tilted his head innocently to the side. "It is just that I admire America. I do not like America very much some times." He thought about it, amending his words. "Okay, _most_ times – but I still am… very much interested in America's strange culture."

"You are an odd creature, Russia." Alfred said flatly, shaking his head in awe. The very same nation that had blasted holes into his homeland was actively praising it. He was never going to understand how the Russian's mind worked. That was probably best for _his_ sanity.

Ivan shifted his weight from one foot to another, rocking slightly. "Ah. Russia is going to check on the others now. We can leave the room and put it out of our minds, da?"

"Go check on them." Alfred waved him along. "I'm… I think I'll stay in here for a little bit, if that's okay with you? I haven't been home in nearly two months now. It's kinda nice to see things that are so familiar."

The boy did not question him. Ivan just nodded as he went to the door. "Take as long as you'd like, America." The Russian smiled faintly, closing the door behind him as he went.

Alfred stood there in the middle of the room for a few minutes, his eyes focusing on no particular thing. He could hear the floorboards creaking in the other parts of the house as the others settled into the comforts of the place. Taking a few slow steps backward, Alfred felt behind him until his hand came into contact with the doorknob. He flipped the lock to secure the door.

Now that he was locked in, the American let out a long, shuddering breath. He walked with silent steps towards the objects that had been gathered here, obviously placed with reverent care by an obsessive Russian. Alfred ran his fingers across the photographs of his states. He couldn't see them clearly enough to know which were which – not that the specifics were important.

Finally, Alfred took the baseball down off the shelf. He pulled out the chair at the table and sat. His hand flexed around the ball to test its firmness, the pads of his fingers caressed by the rough leather laces that bound it. Alfred bounced it on his palm a few times, tossing it high and catching it.

With a smile on his face, the American placed it down on the table in front of him. He folded his hands in front of where the ball sat, curling over the table so that he could stare at it properly. It was something so small, so simple, and yet it made him so happy just to look at it. He felt the corners of his smile starting to tremor. It was just a baseball! Nothing more than just a baseball, and yet he felt so…felt so…

Alfred pressed a hand tightly against his mouth to quiet the noises that were trying to come out. He squeezed his eyes shut but it was too late to prevent the spill of hot moisture down his cheeks. Sitting here in this room full of pieces of home, he should have been happy. Yet for some reason, for the first time since everything had happened, Alfred could feel nothing but a twisting knot in his heart. Crossing his arms on the table, the American lowered his head down to bury into them. He didn't think that it was very heroic to cry. For the moment, though, Alfred was willing to acknowledge the chink in his armor, clasping his head with his hands as he sat there in a room filled to the brim with everything American and wept his heart out.

* * *

Someone's fingers were running through his hair. Alfred drifted out of a light sleep once he became aware of it. He had been locked in the room, hadn't he? Lifting his head, Alfred looked questioningly up to whoever had invaded his private time.

Arthur was staring down at him with sympathy, green eyes concerned as they studied the American's face. Alfred remembered, too late, that he'd fallen asleep crying. He sat up quickly in the chair, swiping at his face to clear away any traces of evidence. His voice was a forced, cheerful façade. "Arthur! Wow – I must have dozed off there. My poor sleeves are covered in drool now. What's up? How did you get in?"

"Ivan let me in. He asked me to check in on you. I can see why." The Englishman's eyes made a solemn sweep of the room before they locked on Alfred's face again. He looked so very normal without all of his snow gear on. His tan slacks and dark green sweater nearly fooled Alfred into forgetting that he was sitting in Russia's house. While Alfred was soaking in the sight of him, Arthur fished a handkerchief out of his back pocket. "Hold still."

"What? What for?" Alfred asked, as the other nation sat against the edge of the table.

Arthur didn't answer him verbally. He took hold of the American's chin in one hand, fingers pressing warmly against the flesh, while his other brought that handkerchief in to wipe at Alfred's tear-stained eyes with tender, gentle strokes of the cloth. Arthur did not question him on why he was crying, which Alfred was infinitely grateful for. As it was, he was too embarrassed with getting caught. Being emotional in front of anyone else could really hurt his reputation.

Finally satisfied with his work, Arthur offered the handkerchief for Alfred to take. His voice was rich with tenderness. "Blow your nose, Alfred. Dinner is nearly ready. Come out soon, all right?" He shifted his weight off the edge of the table, placing a hand on the top of Alfred's head. The Englishman ruffled that golden mop of hair with a half-smile before he stepped back out the door, leaving it cracked open in his wake.

When Alfred finally came out of the room, he had fully recovered, a cheerful mask in place. He grinned wide at Matthew as he walked by the Canadian towards the kitchen. "Hey, Matt! I _totally_ have a shrine devoted to me. You should go check it out. It might give you some decorative ideas for when I finally convert your ass over to true Americana and paint your house red, white and blue."

Matthew grit his teeth at the insult. "Shut the hell up. I hate it when you make those stupid threats. I'm not becoming your fifty-first state, Alfred."

"Canada is going to become one with America?" Ivan had perched on a stool against the kitchen counter. He had been helping Arthur with the dinner preparations, which mostly just consisted of opening some of the canned foods he'd had stored in his pantry. The Russian boy perked with interest, looking curiously between the two brothers.

"No. Canada is not going to become one with America." Matthew said firmly while glaring at Alfred as the man stood beside him at the kitchen's table.

Ivan's smile spread. "So you could still become with Russia, da?"

"There won't be anyone 'becoming one' with anyone else while I'm around, gentlemen." Arthur spoke up over them. He moved around the kitchen with efficiency. The Englishman had probably spent time getting familiar with the layout before he'd started. Stretching up on his toes, Arthur grabbed a few plates down from a high cupboard. He thrust the plates towards Alfred's torso, forcing the American to take them. "Set the table, Alfred. I'll be finished here in a few ticks."

Arthur was pointedly engaging him without acknowledging his previous bout of weakness. It brought a genuine smile to Alfred's face. He didn't even bother to protest the order, placing a plate down in front of each chair. Arthur gave him some silverware out of another drawer that he set beside each space. "Man. We're quite domestic, aren't we?"

"Would it make you feel better if we ate straight out of the cans?" Matthew asked with a snort.

"Don't your lumberjacks eat pancakes out of cans?" Alfred retorted.

Matthew flushed. "That's just a silly legend."

Arthur turned away from the stove, absently stirring the vegetables in the pot as he waited for them to finish heating. He watched the two brothers bicker without moving to interject anything of his own. Seeing the two of them there at the table while he cooked caused a wave of nostalgic warmth to fan through him. His face softened with an unseen smile. Time was playing tricks on his senses again, and for a moment the Englishman allowed himself to dwell in memories of the past.

His daydreaming was ended when Ivan poked his shoulder with a finger. "England? I don't think the vegetables are supposed to be turning that color."

"Ah, bloody hell!" He scrambled to recover; snatching the pot off the stove to prevent the vegetables from getting blackened any further. "Th-that's just to bring out their flavor more. A little searing is good for the greens."

Arthur turned away from the stove and began placing dishes on the table to interrupt the continued banter of the brothers. "All right, boys, here we are." He gestured to the different foods. "Tonight's meal will be a lightly seasoned bear steak, accompanied by freshly de-canned vegetables, a hot chicken bouillon broth, dried potato flakes I managed to mash together – and for dessert," He picked up a pair of tiny cardboard boxes from the counter, squinting at their labels, "I think we're having the Russian version of pudding. Thank God that Ivan had some non-perishables to work with."

"Wow. You really… uh… outdid yourself, Arthur." Alfred tried to sound encouraging as he strained to see if the food looked edible or not. He was given a positive signal from Matthew to let him know that everything appeared safe to consume. As Alfred waited for the other two to start helping themselves, he noticed that Arthur was still working at the stove. "I don't think we'll need the dessert right away. Why don't you sit down and eat?"

"I will in a minute. Right now, I have a kettle, a stove to heat water and a bag of herbs singing a divine siren's call to me. Once I get the kettle on, then I'll join you."

"At least the plumbing still works here. After dinner, I am _so_ going to take a bath." Alfred smiled at the idea. He needed a good scrubbing after nearly a month of travel. "We should all take turns. I can go fir—" A wooden spoon slammed on the table next to the American's hand. His eyes widened, looking up the length of it to where it was clenched in Arthur's grip.

The Englishman's smile was outwardly polite. However, he radiated an aura of malice that was unmistakable. "I'll be taking my bath first. If you consider protesting, I swear that I will de-brain you with this spoon. Understand?"

Alfred's mouth hung open. Then he barked a laugh, eyes squinting shut. "You're such a bad ass sometimes, England!"

"Only when an oaf like you proposes delaying me from the first proper bath I've had in over a fortnight." Arthur thrust the spoon into the bowl of mashed potatoes. He left his kettle on the stove to heat up, taking his own place at the table.

They ate their meal in silence, relishing it while it lasted. Alfred couldn't even work up a complaint about Arthur's cooking. Sure, the meat was a little charred; the potatoes were dry and still crunchy, it was all very bland and without much flavor – but it was the best meal that he'd had in forever. He was eating it off a plate, in a warm, comfortable cabin, with real silverware. Beyond this meal was the promise of a soft bed and a hot bath.

Apparently the trick to enjoying Arthur's cooking was to put oneself through horrible living conditions for an entire month. He'd have to remember that for the future.

* * *

Alfred was generous enough to let everyone else take baths ahead of him. That was what made him such a great guy – always putting the needs of the many first. Or at least that's what he intended to leave them all thinking. Really, he had only gone last so that he could linger as long as he wanted without any of them pestering him to get out.

Alfred sank comfortably into the tub with an uncontrolled sigh of pleasure. This tub had once been suited to Russia's former size, so the American was able to stretch himself comfortably inside of it. He splashed a bit of water off his toes as he bobbed his foot up. He'd brought an extra washcloth with him into the bathroom. Once he'd soaked it in the hot water, Alfred folded it up so that he could drape it across his eyes. Putting so much strain on trying to see had left him with a terrible ache in his head. He groaned as the heat began to seep into the tender flesh of his eyelids and forehead, easing some of that pain as the minutes stretched on.

Alfred heard the door of the bathroom creak open. He frowned under the cloth. "I'm still in here. Go away."

The door shut again quietly. Alfred was ready to settle back again when he heard the lock being turned. Shit! Was Russia trying to catch him in a vulnerable state? He whipped the cloth off his face, sliding up straighter in the tub with a snarl. "I said that I'm… Arthur?"

Arthur stood by the door a distance from the tub. His blond hair was still in a wet mess, a shade darker than usual because it hadn't been dried. He'd dressed for bed already in the flannel pajamas that he had packed but hadn't even been able to wear the entire trip. He dropped his eyes down from Alfred's shocked face to the towels draped over his arm. "You forgot these outside. I thought that I'd bring them in." The Englishman drifted forward, casually folding them over the edge of the bathtub.

Alfred's face felt uncomfortably hot. It wasn't just from the temperature of the water, either. He curled up in the tub, drawing his knees up to his chest in a more modest position, stammering. "Um. Uh. Th-thanks. I can take it from here."

Rolling his eyes at the American's behavior, Arthur sat down on a small stool beside the tub. "You don't need to be so prudish. I'm not the least bit interested in ogling you in the buff, nor did I come in here for any licentious purpose. That is behavior to expect from France, not from me."

"Oh." Alfred blinked. "I thought… you know. You did lock the door and all."

"Frankly, I'm surprised that you didn't. You are in Russia's house, he has access to lethal household utensils, and you just decided to leave yourself vulnerable in the bath. I'd rather not provide him the opportunity to come creeping in here if he gets a mind to do so."

"That's true." He looked at the nation sitting beside him. "So… why _are_ you in here, then?"

"…Do you really need to ask?" Arthur said quietly. "I was worried about you. Are you… okay? With everything that's happened, it dawned on me that you haven't exactly had time enough to let it all sink in."

Alfred sighed down at his bathwater. "It just caught up to me a little, is all. Being in that room, with all those images of home. I haven't let myself get upset over it. There have been too many distractions, you know?"

Arthur nodded slowly. He could understand perfectly what the other nation meant. The Englishman pointed towards the water. "Get your hair wet. It's horribly dirty."

"I was getting there." Alfred whined. Sinking down into the tub, he submerged his head into the warmth of the bath. He wondered if he could drown himself in the water in order to avoid whatever important conversation Arthur wanted to have with him while he was feeling so literally exposed. It probably wouldn't have worked. He surfaced with a sigh and reached for the bottle of shampoo that Ivan had provided for them. His hand clutched at the empty air – it had vanished.

Actually, it had transported itself into Arthur's hand somehow. The older nation was already squeezing some of it into an upturned palm. "I thought that I'd help you. Is it all right?"

"You want to wash my hair for me?"

"It's soothing. Besides, you can talk while I work." Arthur lathered it up between his hands.

Alfred gave him a strange look, before shifting around in the tub so that the Englishman did not have to stretch too far. He felt Arthur's fingers pass lightly over his head, smearing the lather on his hair. It did feel soothing - he had to agree with that. Alfred closed his eyes as those fingers began to massage the soap into his hair, murmuring dreamily. "That's nice. Yeah. So, about earlier – I don't really know what happened there. I never get upset out of the blue like that."

"You've never been in this situation before." Arthur pointed out in a mild voice, massaging at Alfred's temples with slow strokes.

"That's true. I just don't like getting emotional. It's not worth the hassle. There is a certain way that I'm supposed to be – I can't just go around crying about every little thing."

"This is hardly a 'little thing', Alfred. It's fine for you to be upset. It is perfectly acceptable if you want to shed a tear for everything that you lost. That's human nature."

Alfred frowned. "But we're not humans. We're nations."

"That doesn't make us so different. We may be something more than human, true, but that doesn't mean that we are above human emotions. If that were not a part of who we are, then we would never feel concern for our citizens, or love for one another. Once upon a time, I tried to ignore that part of myself – the human spirit. It… was sort of a black period for me." Arthur tilted the American's head back to peer down at his face. "Alfred… don't you get tired of your pretenses?"

"My what-ses?"

"Your pretenses. Your act?" Arthur's eyebrows furrowed together. "I remember how you were when you were younger. I see how you are right now, away from the eyes of the other nations. Why do you persist with behaving like a selfish, obnoxious buffoon instead of behaving like the thoughtful, impassioned young man I know you to be?"

"You're not always honest about your true self either, Arthur." Alfred murmured.

"Don't try to change the focus of this conversation. We're talking about you right now, not me." The Englishman resumed his work, massaging in more shampoo. His eyes strayed to where that one stubborn lock of hair kept popping back upright no matter how much he tried to weigh it down.

"It's just safer that way. Safer for me."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, Arthur – I really don't need you to psychoanalyze me in the bathtub."

"I'm not analyzing you. I think it's a fair question to ask."

"I'm the way I am because it's how I needed to be to get by. Does that answer your question?" Alfred opened his eyes to squint up at Arthur. "Because as much as you may like me the way I am right now, the fact remains that when this is all over and done with, I will be going back home three thousand miles away. When we have finished this insane trip, the only time that we are going to see each other will be during the World Conferences, just as usual. I act the way I do because I don't want to build up close relationships with any other nations."

"Including me?"

Alfred was taken back by the question. "I didn't say that! I'm already close to you. You and Matthew are the only friends I have. Well, technically Matthew is my brother, so he has to adore me by default. So I guess that makes you my only friend."

"Friend, is it?" Arthur sounded amused. He dipped his hands into the bathwater to rinse off the shampoo. "I'm long finished, you know. You should probably get all that out of your hair."

"Yeah, right." Alfred pulled in a breath, holding it as he dunked himself back under the water to rinse. He shook his hair with his fingers to chase out all the substance. When he popped back up out of the water, Alfred found himself nearly colliding with Arthur.

Arthur had perched himself on the edge of the tub. He had an arm braced on the opposite side, so that he was effectively looming over the American. Alfred blinked warily as Arthur silently examined his face in a manner that wasn't entirely becoming of a British gentleman. "Arthur? I thought you said that you weren't planning to do anything 'licentious'?"

"I wasn't, originally. Would it please you to hear that you tend to inspire either the best or the worst in me?" He smiled lazily, green eyes warm on the American's face. "I do sort of owe you for that business in the woods."

"You… um… wow. Uh, hey. Could you hand m-me one of those towels?" Alfred mumbled rapidly, grabbing in the direction of the large cloths.

"Relax, Alfred." Arthur said softly, with a gentle intimacy. He bent down over the other nation, face closing in to mingle his breath with the American's. "This isn't an invasion. Just a kiss."

Tentatively, his lips brushed over Alfred's. He heard the American inhale sharply through his nose at the moment of contact. Arthur let his eyes fall shut as he increased the pressure of his kiss. A little thrill went through him when he felt Alfred's mouth respond, the younger nation apparently moving beyond his shock. For the moment, he let himself be immersed in the taste of the American's lips, even being so daring as to touch the surface of them with the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, he felt a hand closing on the arm he was using to balance himself. His eyes popped open, breaking the kiss off with a quick warning, "Alfred, don't-!"

It came too late, as Alfred dislodged his support, causing Arthur to lose his balance as he fell ungracefully into the tub with a heavy splash of water. He scrambled upright, trying not to grab hold of anything inappropriate, but discovered that the American was already climbing out of the bath. Alfred had wrapped himself up in a towel by the time Arthur was steady. Arthur was dripping wet, flannel pajamas soaked and clinging to his body.

Alfred was smiling down at him wickedly. He casually leaned over the tub, reaching by the Englishman's submerged foot, and pulled out the stopper to drain the water. "Whoops."

Arthur slicked his hair back out of his face, his chin lifting haughtily as he demanded an explanation. "What the hell did you do that for, Alfred?"

"You shouldn't make a move on a man when he's in such a vulnerable position, Arthur. It's like _cheating_." He tossed his other towel towards the Englishman.

"You… wanker!"

Alfred flipped the lock on the bathroom door with a satisfied expression. "Better get dried off. You wouldn't want to catch a cold again, England. Goodnight!"

* * *

In the middle of the night, Matthew's peaceful slumber was mercilessly disturbed. He had tried to ignore the intrusion on his sleep the best that he could; even going so far as to bury his head underneath his pillow. It wasn't hard to guess who was trying to wake him up – he could hear his brother droning at him in a persistent whisper.

"Matthew. Matthew? Mattie? Matt? Matt? Canada. Canada. Canada." His sibling accompanied each spoken name with a prod against his shoulder, until finally Matthew had no choice but to relent. He swung his pillow up to smack it hard against his brother's body, Alfred taking the clumsy blow to his chest with a soft, "Ow."

"Serves you right." Matthew mumbled, voice thick with sleep. "What the hell are you doing in my room at this hour? Couldn't you tell that I was happily _asleep_?"

"I need you to help me." Alfred whispered hurriedly, shooing him over to one side of the bed. When the Canadian scooted over, Alfred slid underneath the blankets next to his brother. "I need you to help me run a test. I think…" He waved a hand in front of both eyes, "I think it might be coming back. A little bit."

Matthew reached over to the small bedside table to retrieve his glasses. He slid them on before fumbling for the lamp's switch. "Okay, okay. Though it seems rather bizarre that you would notice something like that at a time like this. Shouldn't your eyes be – you know – _closed_ right about now? Like mine were about five minutes ago?"

Alfred shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. So I tried counting sheep, but I got bored with that. Then I tried counting back numbers – but I lost count halfway through. Finally, I tried counting the boards on the ceiling. That's when I discovered that I was actually able to see more clearly! Estonia did some tests for me back in Geneva. Do you think that you could… help me with them?"

"Sure, why not? I'm awake now anyway."

Once Alfred had explained the basic steps of the tests, Matthew was able to conduct them without trouble. Without a flashlight to use, they had to make due with the bedside lamp. Alfred cupped one eye, then the other, while his brother held up different numbers of fingers. Once they were completed, Alfred smiled hopefully. "How did I do?"

"Were you just guessing on some of those?"

"Not all of them. Maybe a couple, with the one eye." Alfred dropped his chin down into his hands. "So the left eye is working now – barely. The right has gotten a bit clearer. I'm not completely blind anymore, which is progress. I have advanced from stone-blind to blind as a bat."

"It's been a month. While we would normally heal much faster than this, you'd have to expect that we'd be getting better by now." Matthew leaned back against the headboard in a slump. "Maybe your homeland is on an upswing? It would explain the improvements in your vision."

"That could be it. My people tend to not mess around when it comes to getting things done. They probably all inherited that from me." Alfred grinned with pride. "Even without me there to guide their path, they'll figure out what to do. Finding success through adversity is the American way."

"I tend to successfully find adversity in Americans." Matthew chuckled. "Now that you're done running your experiments, are you going to let me go back to sleep?"

Alfred's smile vanished. "Actually, I was hoping that you might let me stay in here with you tonight."

The Canadian tilted his head. "Why? Convinced that Russia's house is haunted?"

"It isn't ghosts that I'm afraid of here. It's sleeping alone and unguarded with Russia in the next room."

"Good point. Now that you've mentioned it, I don't think that I could get back to sleep on my own. My head is going to be too busy imagining scenarios of Russia trying to sneak in here and conquer me." Matthew shuddered. "Yes. Please. Stay."

Alfred slid down the mattress, deeper into the warmth of the blankets. His brother shadowed the movement just moments later, as if echoing him motion for motion. Sometimes they just fell into synch that way. Matthew removed his glasses to set them back aside and quickly switched the lamp back off, filling the room with darkness once more. He was just about ready to curl up on his side when Alfred whispered to him. "Hey, Matthew?"

"Yeah?" He turned his head to peer back over his shoulder.

"You're kinda French, right? I mean – don't you have a state that's all, like, French and stuff?"

"We've been through this before: I have _provinces_, Alfred, not _states_. And yes, Quebec definitely qualifies. Why?"

Alfred flopped on his side to face the Canadian, propping his head up. "So does that mean that you know about romance and love and all the stuff that France goes on and on about?"

"I don't… don't think that anyone is as much an expert on that as France." Matthew mumbled wryly. "But I guess I know… a little bit about it, sure. As much as anyone else does." He blinked at his brother's face, eyes still adjusting to the darkness. "Again, why?"

"Well, you see, I have this _friend_." Alfred explained casually. "And he was having some troubles in the romance department. Being the heroic individual that I am, of course I told him that I would try to help him solve his problem. Though the entire 'romantic' thing isn't really my bag, you know? Maybe if I tell you his situation, you might be able to tell me what to do? What to tell him, I mean."

Matthew briefly closed his eyes and thought of maple trees. This wasn't really happening to him right now, was it? His smile was weak. "O-kay. You want me to give you romance advice – for your _friend_?"

"Yeah! So will you?"

"And your logic behind asking me is that because my culture is more French than yours, that automatically makes me more of an expert?"

"It sounded good initially… Will it help if I say 'please'?"

Matthew thumped his head hard into his pillow. "Tell me about your _friend_'s situation."

"Right. Okay. So, my friend has been having some confusing… feelings towards someone that he's known for a while. Like, romantic feelings? The problem is that he hasn't exactly had the most stellar relationship with the other… er… person, and so their bad history would make it difficult for them to settle into a healthy romance. And he was curious if it… if it would be possible to put that bad history behind them, so that they could be happy together."

"I think it would be possible. I mean, the relationship is probably never going to be _perfect_ – but no relationship ever really _is_. Just look at us: You and I argue all the time, yet we aren't going to dissolve our brotherhood over it. We haven't had the best history ourselves."

Alfred was nodding slowly, face blank. Either he understood what Matthew was trying to say, or else he was just being polite enough to pretend. He spoke up, thoughtfully, and the Canadian knew it was the former. "So… it would be possible then, you think? Even if it was… a really bad history?"

"Yes." Matthew yawned, gripping a fold of the blankets to draw further around himself as he turned over on his side. "Just tell him what you're feeling and it will work out one way or the other."

"What? No, no – not me, Matthew – my _friend_."

The Canadian sighed quietly. "Well, your _friend_ is an idiot for hanging out with the likes of you. Now shut up and go to sleep."

It was a sound night of sleep for the pair. For once, Alfred did not eventually take over the bed with his limbs. Yet dawn had not fully arrived when the brothers were woken up.

Alfred began to stir first, his facial muscles twitching as he sensed a disturbance. Something heavy weighed down on the center of his chest. The American cracked one eye open, then the other, blue eyes still sluggish with sleep.

Violet ones hovered just a few inches away, staring at him unwaveringly. Once he saw that the American was awake, Ivan smiled and waved from his spot on the man's chest. "Hello, America. England asked me to come in here and wake you up."

The calm of the room exploded. Alfred's body whipped up with a surge of spastic, nearly preternatural energy, dislodging the Russian boy at the same moment that a bellowing roar of alarm screeched out of his throat. That sudden chaos caused a chain reaction of sorts as it roused Matthew who – not knowing immediately what was going on aside from the fact that his bed was shaking violently – echoed the alarmed shout with his own.

Once the dust settled, Matthew was in a heap on the floor. Alfred had scrambled halfway up the post of the bed with a pillow in his hand as if it would work as an effective defense against an attack. Ivan sat calmly on the bed, looking between the two younger nations with an amused expression.

It was this tableau that Arthur walked in upon. The British nation drank them all in with a sweeping glance as he tugged on his gloves. He took it in stride, sniffing delicately. "Right. Breakfast in five minutes and then we're on the road again. Thank you, Ivan, for getting them up so fast."

"No problem." Ivan slid off the bed to follow after the Englishman. "These young nations scare so easily, don't they?"

Arthur chuckled in response, the two elder nations sharing some inside joke between them. Letting Ivan go down the hallway ahead of him, Arthur lingered long enough to catch Alfred's attention, a thick eyebrow arching imperiously. "Alfred, my boy - _that_ could be considered _cheating_. Bear it in mind for the future, hm?"

Matthew was rubbing his sore elbow as he sat upright, wincing in his brother's direction once the Englishman had gone. "What was that about?"

Alfred snorted as he untangled himself from the bedpost. "Payback. That cheeky geezer probably thinks he's funny."

Grunting, Matthew hauled himself up onto his feet. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I will never understand British humor."


	10. Chapter 10

Again, thank you for your feedback! I gave the gents a break last time. Now - it's back downhill.

On a completely random sidenote: Funimation is releasing teasers for the Hetalia dubs. I'm giddy like a fangirl.

* * *

They were back on the road in under an hour, refreshed and recharged from their overnight stay in Ivan's cabin. Arthur was determined to make up for the time that they'd lost by their stop and hurried them through getting the vehicle packed back up. Their equipment had expanded with a few more useful items from the cabin that they'd brought with them. Even those had nearly been left behind at Arthur's insistence, until Russia had reminded the Englishman about the teakettle. At that point, some exceptions had been made, and Arthur had securely stuffed the kettle into the back of the jeep as if it were some rare treasure.

Having taken some offense to Alfred's mention of his driving habits the previous day, Arthur kept his foot steady on the gas pedal, if just to prove to the American that he was capable of driving at a fast pace of speed. Not that he had exchanged many words with Alfred today – they had been doing their best to avoid each other all morning, much to the puzzlement of the other two nations accompanying them.

Black smoke drifted up on the horizon. They were skirting close to another nuclear zone. Ivan stared off at the tendrils where they curled up into the morning sky. His youthful face was unreadable. Arthur nearly gave in to a desire to offer some words of comfort to the boy, though he swallowed them down. It would hardly have been appropriate – after all, his European neighbors had been responsible for causing that distant destruction. And hadn't Ivan's own people been the cause for the eradication of his brothers? Ireland - with his personality complex or Scotland with his domineering attitude - who had always plagued him no matter how much he tried to make peace between them. Then there was Wales, who – well. Maybe Wales had never been so very terrible. Mainly, Wales had just sort of sat down there and kept to himself, knowing that it was the best strategy.

He'd been in the middle of it. He'd suffered too. He risked a quick peek in the mirror towards Ivan when no one was looking. Despite the actions of Russia's people, it was still hard to hold the other nation accountable. They might have been greater creatures than the people born within their borders, yet in the end they were nothing more than the terra firma that their people walked all over, polluted, destroyed, reshaped to suit their needs. As nations, they might have been masters of their domains – yet Arthur often wondered if perhaps they hadn't somehow relinquished that power somewhere down the road of history.

Also, he wondered how difficult it would be to shift the proper balance of control back. Let them pound a hole through another mountain to make a tunnel, and see how they would react when a fussy British nation came to kick their doors in. That would have put the power back into his hands right quick.

Arthur couldn't help a smile at his thoughts. Matthew was unfolding the map beside him to make another notation. The Englishman nodded at it with satisfaction. "We'll need to make quite a berth for that large nuclear zone. Does that still fit in with your estimation?"

"Yes. I took that into account already." The Canadian said happily. He twisted the map so that Arthur could see it better.

"Brilliant." Arthur said, looking back ahead towards the road. He had to slow his acceleration as they drove towards a narrow wooden bridge. The river that ran underneath it was frozen over, wide enough that the ice cast the reflection of the sun in blinding patches in some places. As they were passing over the bridge, there was a large enough chunk in it that it caused the jeep's rear end to bounce.

Matthew gasped, then swore, when the map went sailing out of his grip with the force of that jump. The Canadian twisted in his seat to track its fall. "Arthur, stop the jeep. I dropped the map."

"Oh for God's sake." Arthur uttered sourly. He slowed to a stop on the other side of the bridge, parking it alongside the bank.

Alfred strained in an effort to see where the map landed, swinging a hand up to roughly smack his brother's arm. "Great work, genius!"

"It's not like I meant to do it!" The Canadian wailed sheepishly as he rubbed at his sore shoulder. "I'll go get it, okay?"

"No, Matthew. You won't be able to get down the embankment in your condition." Arthur said, sighing as he unlatched his belt. "You boys wait here. I'll go grab it, then be right back."

Ivan finally turned his attention away from those distant plumes, frowning as he noticed that Arthur had climbed out of the vehicle. He blinked as he saw the Englishman already picking his way carefully down the embankment. "What is England doing?"

"Trying to get the map back. Canada dropped it, like an idiot." Alfred said dryly.

"It was an accident!"

The Russian boy stood up on his seat to see over the top of Matthew's head. Arthur had reached the surface of the frozen river. He was sliding his feet carefully over the ice to avoid slipping, arms out for balance as the Englishman scowled in his search for the map. Alfred saw Arthur bend down to pluck something up. The Englishman straightened, holding up the map in a fist, as he called back to them. "Got it!"

With sudden haste, Ivan climbed over Alfred's lap, pushing the nation deeper into his seat as he scrambled to get out of the jeep. The American snarled. "What the hell? That hurt!"

Ivan was ignoring him, though, swearing in Russian as he found his shorter limbs getting tangled up with the American's, as he shouted desperately towards the river. "Get off the ice, England! It's not safe!"

Matthew's head whipped around at Ivan's warning to look back at where Arthur was making his way over the ice. That was when he heard – and saw – the very same thing that the Russian boy had already sensed. A sound not unlike a branch breaking, as a spidery thread of white cracks spread out from under the pressure of the Englishman's feet. Arthur went perfectly still, looking down at his feet as he recognized his sudden peril.

Ivan practically fell out of the side of the jeep, landing clumsily in the snow. He powered up onto his feet to push in the direction of the embankment. Alfred was close behind him, the American's longer limbs accomplishing the steady grace that the boy's did not. Matthew already knew, though, that before they'd even finished getting out of the vehicle, that they were too late to prevent what was about to happen.

One second Arthur was swinging his arm to fling the map towards safer ground. The next instant, the ice had given way beneath his weight and they could only watch as he dropped down into that freezing water. In the wake of his fall, the gaping hole exposed the river flowing by at astonishing speed.

"Arthur!" Alfred screamed the name with such force that it tore at his throat. The Englishman surfaced from the gap, arms waving desperately in the air as he tried to find something to take hold of. The ice around the hole just broke away under the pressure of that straining grasp, increasing the size of it. Alfred went leaping down the embankment, intent on rescuing the other man.

What he didn't expect was for Ivan to barrel into his hip with enough force to knock him back into the rocks on the embankment. His eyes were practically murderous towards the Russian. "You fucking bastard! I need to _save him_!"

"You're too heavy! You'll just fall in too!" Russia yelled back roughly. The boy was unwinding his scarf from around his neck. He whipped it at the American with a growled warning. "Do not lose that. Canada, keep him _back_!"

They were both insane, surely. Alfred could only make that assumption when he felt Matthew's hands pulling at him with surprising force to drag him back away from the river. He could see Arthur's hand flag up over the surface of the water. It was lucky that the Englishman was such a capable swimmer.

Ivan raced over the ice, sliding onto his knees to skid the last little bit. He caught hold of Arthur's hand before it disappeared back under the surface of the water. The pull of the river's current and the weight of the bigger nation nearly hauled him in too. Ivan grunted as he fought against the strain. His other arm sank deep into the freezing water until he felt the leather of the Englishman's belt. Using that as his handhold, the Russian boy hauled up with as much strength as he could muster.

He wasn't as strong as he used to be, so it wasn't easy. A few times he nearly lost his grip on the other nation when his arms tried to give up the fight. It didn't help that Arthur had become dead weight, his limp limbs offering no assistance to Ivan's efforts. Ivan knew that it was very likely the Englishman had gone unconscious by now for as long as he had been exposed to the frozen waters. He'd probably gone into shock already.

Alfred strained against his brother's grip, though Matthew had wound his arms underneath his brother's armpits, legs locked around the American's waist in a disabling hold. They watched as Ivan levered Arthur up from out of the water, the Englishman folding limply over the side of the ice. Ivan got hold of the bigger man around his middle, grunting with each step as he inched them back towards the brothers. "Help – help me, America!"

Matthew released his brother as soon as Russia asked for him. He numbly clenched Russia's scarf in his hands, having it thrust at him by Alfred as the American hurried down to take hold of Arthur. Alfred hauled the Englishman up off the ice, supporting him under his back and beneath his knees. Arthur hung limply in the American's arms as Alfred fought his way up the embankment towards the jeep. Matthew could only look at the pair and feel anguished that this had all been his fault. He retrieved the map from some nearby branches with tears in his eyes.

As he wiped quickly at his face, Ivan stopped beside him. The boy looked up at the other nation. He took his scarf back from the Canadian, shivering as he wrapped it around his neck. That shivering subsided and the Russian patted him gently on the forearm. "This wasn't your fault, Canada. Now is not the time for blame. We need to make England better."

"Yeah. Yeah… you're right." They climbed back up to the jeep.

Alfred was beside himself. The American's panic had not decreased. He had lain Arthur down across the backseat of the jeep, feeling for a pulse in the other nation's neck. It was still faintly there, fluttering weakly under the surface of Arthur's cold skin. The Englishman was clammy and cold, even his lips had tinged blue from the exposure to the elements. Alfred patted at his cheeks to try and bring him around. "Arthur? Arthur! Wake up."

Matthew came up to the side of the jeep, looking in to judge Arthur's condition. "You need to get him warmed up. He's probably gone into shock. We need to get him out of those wet clothes first, dress him in some dry ones before hypothermia sets in." He noticed that his brother was not even really listening to him. Matthew's hand reached over to pinch the back of Alfred's hand as hard as he could.

The pain got through that panicked glint in Alfred's blue eyes. He had a wild expression on his face. Matthew repeated his orders before adding, more gently, "You need to keep a cool head right now, Alfred. He needs you."

"Okay." Alfred blew out a shuddering breath as he looked back down at the Englishman. He needed to use his head. He needed to be stronger than his impulses, stronger than these violent emotions. "Ivan – grab my bag and get some of my clothes out. I don't care what ones, just whatever will be warm for him. And get one of the bedrolls. Matthew – hand me your knife. I don't want to jostle him around too much."

While the other two went about filling the directives he'd assigned, Alfred stared worriedly down at Arthur's face. He brushed back the wet blond hair away from the Englishman's face, seeing how pale the other nation had become. Alfred pressed both of his large hands to Arthur's cheeks, rubbing the warmth of them against that icy flesh. His lips were chapped – he'd probably torn them when he was screaming, if the pain was any indication – yet he did not think that Arthur was in any condition to mind them. The American rubbed his own lips over those blue ones, covering them and feeling the miniscule trembles.

He pulled back away to watch the fluttering motions of Arthur's eyelids. His attention was drawn away when Matthew cleared his throat, the Canadian offering his brother the handle of his knife. Matthew's face was bland, though there was a strange light in his eyes. Alfred knew that he'd probably seen what he'd just done. He couldn't bring himself to care what his brother thought about it. Alfred took the knife and began to slice at the Englishman's wet, frozen garments.

"Should we try to drive back to the cabin?" Matthew asked quietly while his brother worked.

"It's too far back." Ivan said with a shake of his head. He draped a pile of clothes over the driver's seat, tossing the bedroll down beside them. "There is a town further ahead. I don't know if it is safe, but it is the closest location. We need to get England somewhere warm. For now, America will have to get his temperature up."

"I'll drive us." Matthew decided. He moved the pile of clothes and bedroll over into the passenger's seat in order to climb into the space. "Let me know when you're done cutting him free of those clothes, Alfred. I don't want to risk you slicing him open while we drive."

Alfred grunted; his forehead creased in concentration. "Almost done. Just another minute."

He peeled Arthur free of his coat and sweater, the Englishman's body already too cold to register the extra chill. If conscious, Arthur probably would never have allowed for such immodesty in front of present company (not while sober, anyway – staggering drunk, they'd seen it all by now). Alfred figured that he could complain about it later when he was awake again. He toweled the man's body off to dry off the excess water, shaking his hair free of the freezing droplets.

Gathering up the clothes that Ivan had brought him, he sorted through them quickly in order to find a shirt. First, he wrapped the old T-shirt around the top of Arthur's head to help dry the wet hair and to try and keep the heat in. Then he pulled another on over the Englishman, smoothing it into place over his torso. He followed that by sliding on a long-sleeved shirt, fingers trembling as he worked the buttons closed.

Alfred took up the knife again to cut Arthur's pants off. He had enough foresight to at least force the belt off first – Arthur would have killed him for leaving him without one. Alfred yanked the boots off with haste, tossing them onto the floor of the jeep without bothering to see where they landed. Then he paused and frowned towards the other nations. "Um. You guys might want to turn around. I doubt that Arthur would approve of you seeing… you know. It's not him stripping his clothes off in a drunken binge, after all."

Ivan rolled his eyes, arms folding against his chest as he turned away. Matthew's face flushed scarlet as he turned back in his seat to provide a little more privacy. Alfred made sure that neither of them looked as he finished with his work. He didn't have any undergarments that were going to fit Arthur, so he simply struggled to get an old faded pair of his denim jeans up onto the Englishman. Once he had Arthur all buttoned up and decent, Alfred mumbled to the others. "Okay. Got him changed."

"Now you need to keep him warm. The heat of your body will help to stabilize his temperature." Ivan informed him, as the boy climbed into the passenger seat. He stood on it, helping Alfred to maneuver the bedroll around the limp Englishman.

Alfred gave him an unsure frown. "How should I do that?"

"Lay on him. Or rest him on you. As much contact as you can provide him would be best. He is going to start to shiver badly – that will be a good sign."

"Okay. Sure." Alfred handed the knife back over to Matthew. "Start driving. I'll get settled back here with him."

Matthew nodded as he sheathed it, buckling himself in as he forced the jeep into gear. He spun the wheel around in order to race them towards the town Ivan had suggested, his foot pushing the pedal down to the floor. The sudden burst of speed nearly caused Alfred to fall over in the backseat, though he succeeded in catching himself to prevent it, turning his attention towards his task of warming Arthur back up.

* * *

_New York was unseasonably cold when his ship pulled into the harbor. There was a threat of a storm looming on the horizon, so commerce in the area had seen a desperate surge as merchants tried to beat the more dangerous weather in order to deliver their shipments. It impressed Arthur to see so many ships sailing in and out to sea; he could understand their desire for haste. He himself had been forced to push this trip up earlier than intended in order to avoid the foul conditions._

_It was lucky that he'd brought his winter coat to wear. The crimson fabric was thick enough that the elements weren't too intolerable. When the ruffles of his cravat threatened to pull loose in the force of the wind, he smoothed them all back into place with a hand, feeling how cold the linen was from the frigid air. He had probably overdressed for the occasion; still, Arthur preferred to arrive looking as immaculate as when he'd left. And he was already running late for his arrival time._

_Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, he withdrew his pocket watch to check on the time. Nearly thirty minutes overdue. Worry began to furrow his eyebrows together as he clicked it shut with an unhappy sigh. He had someone waiting for him. Had the boys been waiting long in this kind of weather? Arthur strolled across the deck with impatient steps, green eyes casting out over the piers as he tried to locate some sign of the pair amongst the throngs of people waiting for passengers, supplies, or other trade goods._

_He nearly looked right over the top of them. It wasn't until he spied the small figure of America jumping up onto the railing that he managed to locate the pair. Arthur felt some panic for the young colony's apparent carefree attitude while positioned so precariously on the edge. America was waving his arms in the air and swaying enough that Arthur feared he'd topple right into the water. The boy really could get too excited at times._

_Canada had a little more sense than his brother. Arthur saw the mild-mannered youth take hold of America in order to yank the other boy off the top of the railing to a safer spot. Thank God for little Canada, Arthur thought to himself as he let out a long breath of relief. His ship was near enough now that he could see their faces more clearly; America's face was practically radiant with joy. Something about it was infectious, as Arthur found himself smiling in response._

_America had begun to flag his arms in a wave, ignoring the adults that were glaring at him for bumping into them. Arthur checked around him on the deck. His crew was occupied preparing for the ship to dock; none of them were paying him any notice. He brought his hand up to return a smaller wave, hand swinging back and forth just in front of his chest, cheeks staining with a flush of pink as he sacrificed his commanding façade to return the greeting. Just a few years ago, he'd have been sneering and flashing a less wholesome gesture towards the masses as his ship pulled into port. Now he was embarrassed just to be waving. France would have laughed in his face._

_The ship had barely settled against the pier when Arthur twisted to locate his first mate, schooling his face into a cool mask. "Mister Hanford, I leave her in your capable hands for now. Set the crew on their business – we sail in a week."_

"_Aye, Captain." The seasoned sailor saluted him crisply as he settled into barking orders at the crewmen._

_Nodding, Arthur hurried down as soon as they'd settled the plank into place, his boots clacking loudly on the aged wood. He pushed the broad brim of his hat back from his face as he made his way up the pier. The crowd was parting out of his way, his style of dress and the unmistakable sight of that red coat causing them to automatically defer to him. Arthur took no stock of these faceless American subjects. He looked around as the crowd thinned, yet while he was distracted in his search, the boys found him instead._

_Arthur took measure of the two boys as they stood nearby. America had shot up at least another inch in his absence. He was restless as he waited, having received a stern lecture the last time Arthur had arrived, when the boy had practically tackled him in view of the entire public. Arthur was forced to stress to the youth the importance of proper behavior in such a forum. Canada was quickly becoming a sylph in comparison to his brother; the smaller boy had not yet begun to fill out, still all thin, petite limbs. The arms that clutched that tiny bear to his chest were scrawny in comparison to his more robust sibling._

_In the time that he took to get a good look at them, America was starting to shift from one foot to the other as if to silently stress the amount of restraint it took for him to behave himself. Arthur sighed. There really was no helping it. He smirked faintly and bent down so that one knee brushed the aged, wet wood of the pier beneath them. "All right, I give up. Come here before you burst at the seams, silly boy."_

_His arms spread open just in time to receive the bundle that raced into them. He gasped at the force of America's collision with his frame, laughing a little in his surprise as he immediately gathered the boy up. America had wound his slender limbs around the older man's neck as if trying to display his strength with a firm squeeze. "Eng—Arthur! You're finally back home." He'd managed to catch himself that time, at least. "I have missed you terribly!"_

_Arthur winced at the sheer volume of that voice shouting in his ear. "Gently, little one. Gently. You're going to force my head from my shoulders if you persist."_

_The boy loosened his hold at Arthur's words, shifting so that one arm rested comfortably across the breadth of the bigger man's shoulders. He had turned his body, leaning back against the support of Arthur as he waved Canada over towards them. The smaller boy was still adjusting to the changes of his sovereignty; America had reported in his letters to Arthur that he'd been trying to teach his brother their shared language. It would take some time._

_Canada approached them with faltering steps, not sure if he belonged in their reunion. His wide eyes still held traces of fear towards Arthur. It was perfectly understandable, given that the boy had been witness to the British Empire gloating in the bruised face of his former French father. Arthur was not going to risk frightening the youth by embracing him as he had done with America. He compromised by placing a gentle hand on Canada's slim shoulder. "Good to see you as well. You appear to be in healthier spirits."_

"_I am… 'appy to see you." Canada's accent was still thickly French. Arthur tried not to let it irk him, despite the fact that he'd just left another battle against his bitter enemy and that particular accent set his teeth on edge. "I 'ave learnt many things."_

"_Have you? That's wonderful." Arthur told him with sincere pride. He glanced over to America, seeing that the boy was plucking idly at the intricate gold lacing of his jacket, fingers pale against the backdrop of all that crimson. Arthur looped his arm tighter around the boy and rose from his kneeling position, hefting America up in that arm with a quiet grunt. "My, you've gotten heavy. Why don't you boys tell me all about your progress with language on the carriage ride home?"_

_America settled into his arm with natural ease, giggling at the comment about his weight. Arthur offered his empty hand to Canada, who slipped his tiny hand into that larger one without any comment. The boy shifted his grasp on his bear, folding it more solidly against his chest as he walked alongside Arthur. Without waiting any longer, intent on getting out of the chilly weather and into the comfort of his house, Arthur went straight to the carriage that was waiting for them. He lifted Canada into the coach, having to struggle to get America untangled from around his neck, as the boy seemed determined not to let go. Once he'd pried the youth free and pushed him inside, Arthur stepped in after them with a hard clap on the side of the carriage that sent them wheeling on their way home._

_The week flew by without warning. Time passed too quickly, especially when Arthur wanted nothing more than to stop it. He commanded the seas, and he could have probably controlled the elements with the right incantations, yet time was the one elusive enemy that Arthur could not tame. So it happened again that he was forced to attempt a late night escape from the haven of the home he shared with America, gathering his things in relative silence to avoid waking the boy. Leaving his home here was hard enough without the added guilt of bringing tears to those trusting blue eyes._

_Arthur handed his things to the coachman so that the man could finish loading the carriage. The Englishman took his time as he finished dressing for the cold, sliding on the thick weight of his crimson long coat. As he was securing it over his clothes, he idly noticed a few specks of blood along the trim of the collar. Arthur's nose wrinkled in distaste at it, wondering what nationality had left its mark on his favorite jacket. Odds were good that it was French. It was a marvel that he hadn't discovered it earlier. Then again, he had selected an appropriate color as his banner; stains hardly ever showed._

_He took his hat down from its peg in order to tuck it securely under his arm, while his attention was focused on those spots. Arthur stepped out of the house and let the steward close it quietly behind him. It was another cold night out. He might have felt it press on him sooner, yet Arthur was too preoccupied with scraping his thumbnail over the fabric of his coat to flake off the offending stains._

"_You're sneaking out again?"_

_Arthur's head shot up from where he'd been observing his work. His eyes widened with astonishment as he found America standing at the base of the porch stairs. The boy had managed to appear out of nowhere! He certainly hadn't come through the door or else Arthur would have seen it. "How did you…?"_

"_I climbed down from my window. The tree's branches are long enough that I can get down from the second floor." America explained, though his words were still laced with cool accusation. The boy had braced both hands on his hips as he glared up at the escaping nation. Arthur could see that he had dressed in haste: The boy's shirt wasn't tucked in, the buttons of his vest were done up incorrectly so that the whole thing was crooked, and more telltale than that was the fact that he was wearing two boots of entirely different colors. "Were you not even going to say good-bye?"_

"_There was a letter that I'd left for you in the parlor. I thought it would be easier on you to wake and find me gone, rather than go through the pain of our parting." Arthur felt humbled. Here he was feeling chided – chided! – by a mere boy. Perhaps if he hadn't been sneaking out like an unfaithful husband, it would have been easier not to feel such remorse._

_Arthur shook his head to clear it. He was the bloody British Empire! It wouldn't do at all to stand idle being lectured by his colony. Arthur drew himself up out of his slump, mouth thinning as he regarded America. "That's neither here nor there. It is past your bedtime, young man. And I am shocked that you would do something so uncouth as to climb down a tree as though you were some savage. Now back to bed with you." He pointed to the door of the home as he ordered the boy inside._

"_No!" America refused, raising his voice. His youthful features twisted up in anger and he stepped up in front of Arthur, the hands that had been clenched at his hips were now swatting at the Englishman. The boy's slapping hands could reach no higher than Arthur's chest, yet that did not mean that his blows didn't carry some clout to them. America was a strong little colony._

_Arthur flinched as he found himself coming under this pseudo-attack from the boy, though he could tell that America had no true fire with his attacks, slapping half-heartedly to vent his displeasure more than in an attempt to injure the older man. Snatching hold of the boy by his wrists, Arthur hissed at him in exasperation. "Stop that right now! You're acting like a little buffoon, America."_

"_I don't care! You're supposed to stay with me, England! You promised that you'd stay!" America was already dissolving into tears, shifting the energy of his anger into the hiccupping sobs that started to pour out of him and knife straight into Arthur's heart. "You always break your promise."_

_Those tears inflicted more harm than those slapping hands. Arthur felt America yanking at the grip he had on the boy's wrists. With a melancholy sigh, Arthur released the boy long enough to catch him in a broader hold, enfolding the youth into a tight embrace as he crouched down on the porch. America tried to squirm out of it at first, until his intentions wavered and he ended up throwing his arms around Arthur's neck in a desperate clutch. Arthur felt the hot warmth of America's tears seeping into the collar of his jacket while he let his fingers slip soothingly through the boy's hair. "It was never my intention to mislead you with my promise. Someday I will come back home to you, little one, and it will be for all time. That day will only be possible when the world is safe enough for the both of us. I am working very, very hard to make that happen, America, but you must grant me just a little more patience."_

_America's face drew back from his shoulder, cheeks wet with tears and his nose red from his crying. His blue eyes searched Arthur's face carefully to try to divine something from it. "R-really? You're not just… just saying that because you want to go visit your other colonies or… or because you want to be back at your real home?"_

_Arthur smiled tenderly to him, the lace of his cuff brushing against America's face as he wiped those tear tracks away with the backs of his knuckles. "It's the truth, little one. There is often no happiness to be had within my own borders, as much as it comes under attack from within and without. I honestly find no greater joy to be had than when I find myself returning to your shores, America. One day soon I will come back and you will never again have to go to bed fearing that I will be gone on the morrow."_

_That gave the boy the reassurance that he needed. America nodded solemnly, sniffling as he recovered himself from the last of his tears. "Okay, England. I will… I will try my best to be patient."_

"_Thank you." Arthur was relieved to hear it. His smile stretched as he squeezed the boy into another tight embrace. He kissed America's round cheek and buried his face against the youth's neck for one lingering moment longer, drawing the scent of the boy deep into his lungs; Arthur dwelled in the smell of untamed wilderness that radiated from his colony, then forced himself to withdraw so that he could lock eyes with the boy. "All right, America. I am running behind schedule as it is. Promise me that you will be a good lad. Look after Canada for me and continue to help him like a good brother should. Be brave and be strong."_

_When his carriage rolled away minutes later, Arthur kept himself straining to keep sight of America from the window. The boy was left standing on the porch, his figure receding into the shadows as Arthur got too far away to see him clearly. Eventually the house itself had disappeared behind the darkened foliage of the wilderness around it. Arthur slumped heavily back into his seat, allowing the carriage's rocky motions to jostle him as he stared listlessly towards the floor. He had gone through this routine nearly a hundred times by now. He was still waiting for the day when it would get any easier._

Arthur surfaced out of distant memories and was immersed in a scent both familiar and strange. It smelled of grass and wheat and clear summer skies. He inhaled deeply, nose lifting until it made contact with smooth, warm flesh. The scent only got stronger. Wasn't this how America smelled?

The tip of his nose rubbed against that spot until he felt the warmth beneath him start to squirm. Arthur's eyes cracked open as he heard Alfred emit a quiet giggle, though it sounded far away. "Arthur, you're tickling me here. Are you finally waking up?"

Arthur wanted to tell him that was the case. His body just didn't seem to want to obey him. He managed to roll his head, feeling the pressure of an arm against the back of it, in order to peer silently at Alfred's face where it rested beside his. The American lay beneath him, and all that lovely warmth was radiating from his body, and Arthur was quite comfortably nestled upon it. He should have felt mortified to find himself in such a manner, resting as intimately as he was between Alfred's thighs. His brain recalled what had led up to it, however, and Arthur did not feel so embarrassed.

Alfred noticed his gaze. The American smiled brightly at him. "Hey there. It's about time that you came around."

There was a bedroll draped over the both of them. Arthur could feel its soft weight against his back. Alfred was carefully adjusting it around their bodies now that the Englishman was shifting his position. His limbs felt like lead weights. Nothing wanted to work properly. Alfred murmured down to him, "Don't move around too much. I just got you unfrozen. You need to take it easy for a while."

There was probably sound logic to back up Alfred's warning. Arthur was just too stubborn of an individual to obey him like that. He wanted his head up, throat working soundlessly as the Englishman tried to look around them. Arthur didn't hear the sound of the jeep. They must have stopped somewhere after the incident with the river. He wasn't completely lucid. His brain felt like it was swimming through some murky waters. When he finally did manage to speak, it came out as a dull slur. "Where're we?"

"Camped outside of a small town. We were going to try and stay there, but Ivan said that he thought some military might have stationed in it. Since you weren't conscious, we decided that it would be better to play it safe than sorry. How do you feel?"

"Tired. Weak. Drunk."

"No surprise there. You were an icicle for a while. It was lucky for you that Ivan managed to pull you out in time." Alfred's smile faltered. He looked very serious as his eyes traced over Arthur's face. "We nearly lost you."

"Too stubborn to die." Arthur mumbled. The crook of Alfred's throat was warm. It smelled so inviting. He tightened the grip of his arms around the American's neck and nuzzled his face down into it. There might have been once or twice that he'd imagined this sort of scenario: At rest in the American's arms, comfortable and at peace, as if they'd been doing it for a lifetime. Of course, none of his imagined fantasies had involved a near-death experience prior to this close embrace.

Alfred's hands had been tracing lazy patterns on his back until Arthur began to nuzzle his throat. The American tightened his grip on the Englishman, fingers digging in as he tensed again. "S-stop that. It tickles."

At the protest from the American, Arthur relented on his ministrations. He felt like he'd been drinking – surely that made his behavior excusable? Arthur's body trembled with a shiver that cut deep into his bones; the force of it rattled a breath through his teeth. "Ivan? Matthew?"

"Out hunting. With the military so close, they thought it would be better to go as a pair. That, and I think Ivan was concerned with Matthew blaming himself over what happened. Russia really acts like someone's old grandpa sometimes."

Arthur shook his head. Matthew would have been a fool to blame himself over the event. While he'd been the cause of the circumstances, he'd certainly not been the catalyst for the outcome. It was Arthur that had erred; in his irritation, he had not used proper judgment towards the safety of his environment. He should have known that the ice wasn't going to hold him. His eyes fluttered, straining to keep them focused on Alfred's face. "And you?"

"I wouldn't forgive myself if anything happened to you out here." Alfred said quietly.

"Help me to sit." Arthur told him, finding his body pliant in the care of the other nation. He was brought upright against Alfred's chest, the American keeping him steady with those hands on his back. Arthur slumped down on his knees once his weight had balanced itself. Struggling against the lethargy in his system, he tried to fix Alfred with his most impressive look of disapproval.

"Now listen up, America. I decided to come along – my mistakes are my own, got it? You're not allowed to take credit for my failures or my achievements. Stop thinking that you're so _damned_ special. You're not. You're not!" He slid a hand down from where it had been locked around Alfred's neck, poking at his chest with his index finger. "You need to understand that you aren't the only one causing ripples in the pool." Arthur blinked, his head lolling to the left as his train of thought derailed. Giving the other nation a lecture on responsibility in this condition was harder than he'd imagined it would be. "Where… was I?"

Alfred's expression transformed from chagrined to amused with a wry smile. "…My ripples in some pool?"

"Don't patronize me with that smirk of yours. My brain's all gone to pot right now." Arthur warned him darkly. His mind plucked at the first loose thread it could find that would lead him forward in the conversation. "I wasn't honest there. You are special, aren't you? Everyone thinks so – whether they like the fact or not. It's different for us, isn't it – you and I? Don't mistake me in thinking that means I think you are special. You're a rude, senseless git who only exists to annoy me and make my life difficult. Are you listening to me, boy?"

"Listening, sure. Understanding? Sketchy." Alfred's eyebrows had lifted high on his forehead, rather impressed by the patchy nonsense that was spewing out of the Englishman's mouth. That was normally what _he_ did – ramble on until the concept made sense. "I think that you're trying to insult me. Is that the point?"

Arthur shook his head, instantly regretting it. He had to rest his forehead down on Alfred's shoulder when dizziness spelled through him, his ranting dropped lower to a dull mumbling. "Absolutely not. Are you even paying attention to a word that I've said?" His fingers curled in the fabric of Alfred's shirt, bunching it up. "You aren't special to me. You _were_ special to me. You were so very special, Alfred, do you know that? Tamed the heart of a pirate and broke the heart of an empire – that's what you did. Now you think you can just toss your weight around like the cock of the walk, but that really isn't fair, is it? Is it?"

Alfred searched the area around him nervously. "Are you just… ranting to get stuff off your chest, or are you really yelling at me right now about all this?"

"Shut up! Let me get a word in edgewise, you American prick." Arthur muttered. He wasn't about to let the other nation interrupt him. Everything that he had to say would never get out if he did. Arthur waited until he was sure that the American was going to stay silent. It gave him time for his brain to find something else to bring up while he had Alfred's undivided attention. "I'm… I understand that I am not making much sense right now. This probably wasn't the best time for me to have this conversation with you – but you get it now, right? Don't you?"

His hold tightened on Alfred's shirt, winding the fabric in his fist as he tried to shake the American. "I mean that I'm sorry, all right? You wanted an apology from me because I was always such a manipulative prick – ask France, ask Spain, they'd agree – but I will never apologize to them since they have never meant anything to me while you, _you_ will always mean the _world _to me. Not because I think you are special – I am the one who decided what I should feel, got it? Me."

"Was that…? Arthur, is that your version of an apology?" Alfred was incredulous.

"I never said that it would be good, did I? I make it a habit of never apologizing. Not for anything." Arthur peered hard into those blue eyes, cheeks flushed. "If you tell anyone that I did so, I'll deny it. They won't believe you."

"I'm not going to tell anyone." Alfred shook his head. This was probably the worst version of an apology that he'd ever received. Still, coming from the gruff England, there wasn't much more that he could expect. "Thanks. I mean it, Arthur. Thank you. Strange how it takes you nearly drowning and then almost freezing to death to put you in the mood to admit that you're sorry."

Arthur frowned. "It wasn't just that. I was dreaming just now…" He cut off his words, not wanting to even begin trying to explain his motivations to the American. Arthur let go of Alfred's shirt and took hold of the one that had been put on him while he was unconscious. It was much too large for him, the cuffs nearly swallowed up his hands.

Alfred looked on as the Englishman checked himself over. "Ah. I had to cut your clothes off. These are mine. You can change into some of your own when we get to another shelter. We weren't really selective on what went on you."

"No, this is fine." Arthur brought the bunched cuff up to his face, delicately sniffing the fabric. It smelled like Alfred. The American had been wearing it that day in Geneva, hadn't he? A fresh wave of lethargy passed through him, zapping the reserves of energy he'd just used up. Arthur rested heavily forward against Alfred's chest, arm falling limply down to rest atop the other man's. "I'm too tired for this. I think I need to sleep some more."

"That's probably a good idea. We need you to get your strength back up." Alfred told him. He eased backwards slowly, carrying Arthur with him so that the Englishman sprawled back out upon his chest. Having Arthur complacent instead of that usual stiff-backed manner was a welcomed change. His mind was replaying the Englishman's rant in a loop, stuck on repeat, like it were trying to clue him in on some important tidbit of information that he'd missed in all that chaos. Alfred was slow to catch on. "Hey, Arthur? Were you just trying to tell me that you-?"

There was a quiet snore near his chest. So much for asking Arthur what he'd meant. "Um. Never mind."

Booted feet came crunching through the snow a few minutes later. Ivan and Matthew must have been returning to camp. Alfred tried not to shake Arthur around too much as he turned his head, a bright smile in place. "Hey guys! He finally woke up!"

He blinked a few times, then his face twisted with annoyance. Did he really need this _now_? His good mood deflated completely as Alfred looked dully up the length of the rifle that was now leveled right into his face. The Russian soldier on the end of it did not look happy to see him. The feeling was entirely mutual. Alfred scowled up at the man, saying the first thing that popped into his mind. "Fuck."


	11. Chapter 11

Huzzah! Make sure that you check out the clip for Arthur's English voice actor on the Funimation website. (It's cute, really - though I can't hear it without Arthur shouting 'Victory is Mine!' over and over. Family Guy reference, for those of you unfamiliar with that show. And even America gets to speak!)

**Advanced Warning:** This chapter contains **violence** - though I try not to make anything too graphic considering the sensitive nature of . I suppose this segment would be considered rated R. **Rated R - for Russia**. (Or rated R for A**R**thur. Or Alf**R**ed. Or Ma-nope, sorry Canada.) That should imply enough right there.

Slightly longer than the other chapters. I hope to God that it makes sense - I tried not to make this read like a total chaotic mess. Action movies tend to have a semi-orchestrated chaos to them. That's what I was trying to go for.

* * *

"Alfred? Alfred!" Arthur was hissing at him just above a whisper.

It was a chore to open up his eyes. In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have resisted the Russian soldiers. He'd been concerned for Arthur at the time – sometimes he didn't make the best choices under duress. Alfred's head rolled on his neck, a persistent ache throbbing near his left temple. They had hit him with a rifle a few times, hadn't they? It had all been fuzzy after the second blow.

He tried to sharpen his vision to where Arthur's voice had come. The Englishman was bound in a chair there across the room. He stopped straining at the ropes when he saw that Alfred had finally come around. His pupils had shrunk to emerald pinpoints, face full of color – Arthur was livid. It was good to see that his anger was helping to restore some of his strength.

"What's… goin' on?" Alfred winced at the sound of his own voice as it echoed through his head. His hair felt sticky on the side of his face – either he'd been sweating, or else they'd hit him with enough force to draw blood.

"They've brought us back to their base. I can only assume, from what I heard them say, that they believe us to be spies." Arthur said quietly, eyes darting towards the door. There was a shadow shifting outside of it, undoubtedly someone was standing guard. "Are you all right?"

"Ugh. They rang my bell pretty good." Alfred said with a laugh. "How long have I been out?"

"Not long. They just went to fetch their commander a few minutes ago. I think they were concerned about leaving you unattended; you put up quite a fight."

Alfred chuckled low in his chest. "I tend to take it badly when Russians try to capture me. Or anyone else, for that matter." He gave Arthur another unsteady inspection. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. They didn't feel the need to hurt me. Of course, I was smart enough not to put up a struggle." Arthur murmured. He might have said more, except that the door to their room opened and a few Russian soldiers entered. The Englishman sat up stiffly in his chair, lofting his chin as he coldly appraised them.

Their leader was easily placed. He was heavily decorated, certainly no lowly officer in the ranks. His features were hawkish, pale blue eyes passive towards the two captives. In a way, he reminded Arthur more of Germany than of Russia. Having been on the receiving end of Germany's unkind treatment in the past, the comparison did nothing to ease his worries. The commander crossed to Alfred first, wrapping his fingers in a few of the American's hairs in order to pull his head up at an angle that strained Alfred's neck awkwardly. Alfred flinched at the treatment, though he bit back any sound of pain. The commander gave his injured head a quick examination, addressing his soldiers.

"_This one is injured – why?"_

"_He put up incredible resistance, sir. We had no choice but to render him unconscious." _One of the soldiers responded in clipped Russian as he saluted the superior officer.

The commander clucked his tongue, releasing Alfred's head with disgust. He ignored the American's glare that bored into his back as he stepped over in front of Arthur's chair to check him over as well. Arthur met his penetrating stare force for force, unafraid. The commander crossed his arms in front of him, amused by Arthur's lack of fear. "_You speak Russian?"_

"If you intend to interrogate me then do so in the Queen's tongue. Otherwise, kindly stroll your arse back out the door, pinko bastard." Arthur stated dryly.

The commander's expression hardened impossibly more at the insult. Then, abruptly, he barked a laugh. "Very well, Britain. We will speak in your charming little language, then, yes?" Snapping his fingers, one of the other soldiers brought a chair into the room. The commander sat down on it, hands braced on his thighs as he looked between the two captives. "A Britain and an American out in the middle of Mother Russia. Your governments sent you here, yes?"

"I'm sure that my government has bigger concerns at the moment than wondering where I've gone on holiday."

Alfred snickered quietly beside him at the Englishman's flippant answer. They hadn't faced an interrogation by hostile forces since they'd made a wrong turn in France during the Second War. This was going to be fun! He rocked the front legs of his chair up off the floor, pumping himself up and down on his feet with a grin. "Hey Arthur. I've got a joke for you."

The commander scowled. He looked between the two men. Straight out of the gate, they weren't allowing him to have the power with the interrogation. Arthur blinked over at the American, quirking a thick eyebrow. "Eh? Let's hear it, then."

"How many Communists does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

"I'm stumped, Alfred. How many?"

"What's a 'light bulb', comrade?" Alfred finished gleefully.

Arthur jutted his tongue out. "That was only mildly funny."

Growling low in his throat, the commander stood up from his chair. He gave them each an angered glance before returning to where Alfred was tied. His hand took a firm hold of the American's chin, while the other cruelly pressed the pad of his thumb against the wound on Alfred's head, digging it in with enough violent force that Alfred was unable to avoid yelping in response. "You both find this amusing? You think that you are safe here? How very wrong you are. I will have my answers. I will have my answers, or you will die. We have the power here. Remember that."

He released Alfred with a rough thrust of the American's head. His thumb was still smeared with Alfred's blood as he snapped orders at his men, gesturing for them to leave the room as he marched out. The door slammed shut in their wake. It left the two of them once more alone. Alfred was panting with pain, chest heaving against his restraints. Arthur resumed straining within his own bindings to try and shake them loose.

Alfred rolled his head backwards, hanging it over his chair as he composed himself beyond the pain. "Do you… do you think Matthew and Ivan are safe?"

"I'm sure they have returned to camp by now. They know that we're gone. It wouldn't take much for them to deduce that we've been captured. We can't wait around relying on them for a rescue, though. There are several soldiers here – it would be just the two of them against this entire camp."

"Nn…"

Arthur glanced over at the American. Alfred's consciousness was barely hanging on. He probably sustained a concussion from those blows to his head. "Alfred? Alfred! Wake up, brat."

"Stop calling me that…" Alfred dully complained as he rolled his head upright.

"I need you to stay awake right now. Don't pass out on me." Arthur instructed him sternly. "Do whatever you have to in order to keep your eyes open. Shout, laugh, sing – anything."

Alfred nodded sloppily. Then he drew in a breath, mumbling out in a singsong voice. "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer. You take one down and—"

"Alfred? Any other song but that one."

* * *

On the western side of the town, a pair of soldiers continued on their routine patrol of the perimeter. They chatted quietly as they trudged together through the snow. The entire post was buzzing over the news that their scouts had managed to apprehend some foreigners. One of the soldiers broke away from his partner. He allowed the other man to keep walking their designated area while he stepped further into the tree line. With a little hum under his breath he began to relieve himself.

Just as he had finished zipping back up with a shiver at the cold, a slender arm snaked across his neck from behind. He didn't even have time to shout out an alarm. The soldier choked as it cut off his supply of air. He swatted violently to try to dislodge his assailant, eyes bulging as his face began to discolor. Eventually his struggles ceased and the soldier became a sagging bulk of limbs as he blacked out from lack of oxygen.

Matthew dropped the unconscious soldier to the ground, panting from the struggle. He knelt down beside the man and began to search through his uniform. Ammunition, a hand radio, and a handgun were useful rewards that he took away from the confrontation. Matthew checked the clip with a few efficient motions to see how many more rounds were in it. It was full – lucky day!

His eyes darted around the area as he balanced his glasses back on his face, the Canadian hissing quietly. "Russia?"

The boy materialized from between a few trees, arms behind him as he came to stand next to Matthew. He appraised the Canadian's work on the soldier with a nod of approval. "He will be out for a while. Good work, Canada!"

Matthew grunted in reply. He hefted his crossbow in his left hand, gripping the handgun in the other. "We need to take out the rest of the scouts. Did you get the other patrol guard?"

"Da. He is sleeping as we speak." Ivan's eyes were brightly dancing. He smiled up at the other nation. "Shall we split up, comrade, to handle the others?"

"Sounds good. Meet back here in ten minutes. Don't leave anyone unconscious out in the open, okay? We don't want them being spotted."

Ivan rolled his eyes. Of course he knew that. How thoughtful of the younger man to remind him! "Back in ten."

Matthew headed to the left side of the town. That meant that Ivan would take the right. The Russian boy watched as his companion disappeared into the trees. Ivan looked at the unconscious soldier, dropping his arms down to his sides. His knife was coated in lovely scarlet already, and there were so many more men to go. The boy's violet eyes checked back in the direction that Matthew had gone to make sure that the Canadian had left.

He crouched down, his knee coming to rest upon the soldier's chest. Ivan made a quick study of the man's unconscious face. This one hadn't been amongst his people for more than two decades. It was such a waste of potential for a young life. How funny to think that any of these people would have the gall to raise their weapons against _him_. Ivan patted him on the cheek with a sigh. Then he made a little hum as he dragged his knife in a slow, clean line across the soldier's throat. He casually fit his other hand upon the man's mouth to muffle the gurgling noises that came out of him as he bled out into the snow, Ivan whispering softly down to him as he felt the man's body spasm under the pressure of his knee. "We can't have you waking up on us, wicked boy."

Once the wet sounds had ended, Ivan straightened, shaking blood and saliva off his palm from where it had come bubbling out through the man's lips. He stared down at the corpse with a wistful smile. It never pleased him to have to kill his own people. When they forced his hand, though, it really couldn't be avoided. Russia had never been one to tolerate disobedience.

After all - naughty children needed to be punished.

* * *

Arthur grit his teeth as he continued his subtle struggles with the rope around his wrists. The rough bristles of it had chafed his skin already, the constant friction having rubbed them raw with his efforts. If it were a choice between waiting around for these Russians to decide what to do with them and suffering some pain to garner his freedom, Arthur would always pick the latter. He didn't mind a little pain. In his delinquent years, he'd actually enjoyed it now and then in the right setting.

Alfred had gone quiet. It kept distracting Arthur away from his task, as often as he kept checking if the American had passed out or not. Alfred was blinking languidly at the door in front of them. There were guards that kept crossing outside. They could hear them moving up and down the corridor. The American laughed quietly right before the door opened. Arthur went still in his chair just in time as the commander walked back into their holding cell. Alfred tilted his head to the side, sporting a cocky grin. "I knew you'd miss us, Mister Commie Commander. Back so soon?"

"My men just finished inspecting your vehicle. It is one of ours. I am curious as to how you ended up with a military transport that belongs to our army." The commander said coldly, mostly ignoring Alfred's bravado. His eyes shifted to both of them. "Imagine my surprise when I received a report that one of my scouting units had gone unaccounted for towards the southwestern border. Neither of you would happen to know what happened to them, would you?"

"Soldiers, soldiers… Hm. Nope. Haven't got a clue over here." Alfred shrugged lightly. He failed to notice that Arthur's scowl had gotten that much heavier. "Would you believe me if I told you that we just sort of found it?"

"I would have – if not for the fact that I sent a unit out to investigate the location of their post." The commander said mildly. His mouth pulled up in the corners. "Apparently there was a small family of farmers living there. Naturally, given the suspicious circumstances of my men having been killed, I had no alternative but to order their executions."

"Bastards!" Arthur had been sitting quietly during their exchange up until that point. He transformed from guarded to enraged in record time, kicking his foot out roughly towards the commander's leg.

The Russian man stepped aside to avoid his reach, eyebrows lifting as he settled his attention fully on the Englishman. "Ah, it was you, then? Honestly, I was of the opinion that it must have been the American who killed my soldiers. You Brits tend to be so docile; I forget that you can be rather aggressive fighters as well."

He made a gesture for his soldiers, who filed into the room. Alfred could only watch with confusion as they began to swarm around Arthur. The Englishman was being untied from his chair, restrained by his forearms as they freed him from his bindings. Arthur made a slow rotation of both wrists to restore their circulation. Alfred tried to catch some sign from the other nation on what was happening here. "What's going on?"

"Naturally, if your British friend was responsible for killing my men then there must be consequences." The commander said with vague satisfaction. "I only require one foreign hostage – and America has resources that will be of considerable more value to me. Knowing that, the easiest option would be to dispose of the spare captive." He made another gesture towards his men, speaking again in Russian so that Alfred could not understand what was being said.

Whatever the order had been, it had been bad enough that Arthur tensed. That astonishment faded into sullen anger as the soldiers jostled Arthur around. Alfred began to test the security of his own bonds as he registered the fact that they were about to take the Englishman out of the room. "Hey – hey! You fucking Reds better not be planning to hurt him." His face darkened with anger as they ignored him. Alfred bucked in his chair hard enough to make it jump. "You assholes had better listen up. I swear that I will piss in your goddamn skulls if you even _think_ about—"

"Alfred." Arthur spoke his name in a firm, calm voice. The American quieted, worried eyes fixing on the Englishman's face. "Be quiet. Don't do anything that would encourage them to harm you any further."

"I'm not – not worried about me." Alfred snapped back. "Where are they taking you, Arthur? What do they intend to do? You know, don't you? Goddamn, you _do_ know – so tell me!"

Arthur's face softened. The soldiers tied his wrists behind his back as they prepared to take him out. Alfred watched as the hardness abandoned those large emerald eyes, warmth creeping into place as Arthur spared him a tiny, reassuring smile. Years ago, that exact look would have pacified any fear in his young colonial heart. "It will be all right, Alfred. Now be a good boy for me and try not to get yourself killed."

The vision of those green eyes as they appeared just then imprinted into Alfred's brain. All too quickly, that look was lost from Arthur, replaced with a grim resignation that left the Englishman's normally ageless face shadowed by the full weight of countless years. There also lingered the barest hint of cynicism that was always present just beyond the surface of Arthur's polite smile; nothing that was going on around him seemed to truly engage him, as if he had seen it all before and knew precisely how this farce was destined to play out.

He pointedly avoided meeting Alfred's eyes again. Arthur couldn't bring himself to respond to the American saying his name, over and over, as Alfred's alarm raised his volume each time until it was practically a shout pouring out through the door that chased Arthur down the corridor. The idiot was going to ruin his voice at the rate he was going. It caused him to huff. Arthur arched an eyebrow as he turned his head to smirk faintly at the commander walking beside him. "So, chap, what's it to be? Firing squad? Hanging? Or will it be something more creative and advanced? I confess that I haven't been keeping up with the trends."

"I like to keep things old-fashioned." The commander answered with a pleased smile. He pushed open a door with his arm, sweeping it outward to let the Englishman step outside into the yard of the camp. "Thanks to our efforts after the nuclear attacks, we have plenty of bullets to spare. What is the phrase for parting in your country? 'Cheerio'?"

Arthur chuckled without humor. He squared his shoulders before stepping out through the door, saying lightly back. "Actually, in this case, 'Piss off, you fucking wanker' sounds more satisfying."

* * *

Matthew had stolen a pair of binoculars from one of the guards he'd rendered unconscious. Ivan was late meeting him back at the rendezvous point. The Canadian hadn't been able to locate the unconscious guard he'd left at the spot, either. No alarm had been raised inside the camp to indicate that the soldier had woken up and warned his comrades. Something about it bothered Matthew. However, other priorities controlled his focus.

He had managed to find a good vantage point hiding among some crates beside one of the buildings. It looked like a storehouse of some type. No soldiers had been occupying the interior, so Matthew had selected it as a prime location to get a better view of the entire camp. He lay on his stomach upon the freezing snow, glasses pushed up on the top of his head as he squinted through the binoculars. Climbing into this space had left his legs feeling raw and sore. It wasn't going to be an easy rescue.

Their jeep was parked in the middle of the yard that was the center of the camp. Soldiers were going through their bags, checking their equipment, possibly for anything incriminating. Matthew saw one of the men unfolding their map. That same damned map that had gotten them into this situation. And another of the soldiers fished inside a bag – Matthew's, by the looks of it – in order to withdraw the bottle of maple syrup he'd brought with him. The Canadian's trigger fingers itched with the desire to snipe that bastard.

Where the hell was Ivan? Where the hell were Alfred and Arthur?

As if in answer to his silent inquiries, Matthew hovered his binoculars upon a door that opened on one of the bigger buildings in the complex. He saw some guards escorting an annoyed Arthur between them, the Englishman stumbling a step in the snow as they went a little too fast for him. Matthew couldn't see any visible injuries upon the other nation. There was no sign of Alfred, though, and that bothered the Canadian. What were they bringing Arthur out into the open by himself for?

Matthew made another quick scan of the compound. Other soldiers were approaching the cluster of men surrounding Arthur, though Matthew was too far away to hear what was being said. They marched the British nation over to what appeared to have once been a telephone pole. Matthew frowned as they secured Arthur to it, curious as to their purpose. Though when several of those soldiers began hefting their rifles the situation wasn't hard to define. Swearing profusely, the Canadian scaled up and over the sides of the crates. He needed to get to Arthur!

As soon as his feet hit the ground with a flare of pain coursing up his legs, Matthew heard the sound of shots being fired. He went running around the corner and into the yard of the camp just in time for all hell to break loose.

* * *

Sweat beaded Alfred's forehead. A slick trail of it, mixed with blood that was drying to flakes, slid down into his right eye. It stung a little. He shook his head roughly to discourage any more stray drips. The American had been working hard since they'd taken Arthur out of the room.

He hadn't been able to tear his ropes open – it had been a disappointment. Alfred had imagined that he could flex his arms, the sheer strength of his massive biceps snapping the ropes, leaving them to pool pathetically at the base of his chair. That's what Rambo would have done! He'd bunched his muscles, strained until his face went purple, to no avail. Fucking Hollywood had made it look easy. His heroic escape had been foiled once again by a piece of movie trickery.

Since that hadn't worked, Alfred moved on to another plan. That was what led him to now, jumping his chair into the air and slamming it back down with all the force he could muster. His spine was screaming with pain, rear end feeling like he'd spent an hour riding a bucking bronco. Alfred sucked in a deep breath and held it as he pushed up with his feet again, slamming the legs of his chair on the floor again. It was making his vision swim with a lovely blend of colors as his head protested his actions. The American heard another promising sound of splintering wood.

His body rocked as Alfred sighed in frustration. By then, he was already tipping backwards, eyes widening since this had not been part of his plan. The American let out a loud squawk as his chair went slamming down onto the floor along with his body. He winced at the impact, feeling as the wood practically disintegrated into pieces underneath the full force of his weight. Alfred groaned as he rolled over on the floor, body sore everywhere. Now that the chair no longer held the ropes taut, the American was able to shimmy them off his body.

He frowned accusingly down at the splintered chair and limp rope. Maybe all those times that he'd been teased about his weight gain had a little truth to them. Oh, but it had certainly come in handy in this circumstance. Alfred intended to rub that in their faces! America's 'fat ass' had just brought him one step closer to saving the day. Those snide assholes would be singing praises to it from now on.

Alfred smirked as he turned to the door and viciously kicked it open. The wood slammed with enough force that it smashed the guard outside into the wall. He heard the guy's grunt of pain, saw that he'd managed to daze him. Alfred finished him off with a fierce right hook punch. That poor soldier probably didn't see only stars – he probably saw fireworks. He let the guy slump there against the wall, looking hurriedly in either direction to see if any other hostiles were out here with him. The coast was clear so far.

Searching over the soldier, Alfred took the man's handgun and his rifle. It was a rather nice model of rifle, a masterpiece of semi-automatic art. Far superior to the typical Russian crap they produced. He examined it quickly, squinting his good eye at the serial number. Made in the USA? Oh, hell yes! "Thank God for international trade, baby."

Alfred took his new arsenal along with him, breaking into a run down the corridor. He was armed, he was pissed, and he was excited. Arthur was going to owe him so many favors after all of this was over. The American's grin was smug as he ran down the corridor to find where they had taken the Englishman. It was time to stage a most epic rescue.

* * *

Ivan whistled to himself as he dragged another soldier's body over to toss it onto the stack. He needed to get up onto the roof and his small figure made it close to impossible without having an adequate boost. His coat hung on the branch of a tree behind him. He'd been afraid of it getting messy with all of the maintenance he had to do cleaning up after himself. Ivan clambered up atop the pile to check his reach. Yes, this was satisfactory.

The Russian jumped down to gather the weapons that he'd collected. None of them had been armed with anything that he really liked – no hand-to-hand combat items aside from a few standard military knives. War really was getting too impersonal. Perhaps he had simply become too old for all this, Ivan mused as he thrust the bundle of guns onto the roof above him. He pulled himself up behind them.

His whistling had settled into a quiet humming. He couldn't remember the name of the song that had lodged itself into his brain. One of America's silly rock and roll tunes that he'd heard ages ago. It was strange how the most random things entered his mind at times like this. Ivan positioned the rifle up on the top of the roof, using it as leverage to balance the gun. His arms weren't long enough to support it without that added prop.

So inconvenient. All of this was so inconvenient.

Ivan looked through the sight of the rifle. He began to tally up the numbers of soldiers in his head. Tried to judge how many of them he could pick off before they caught on to his location and returned fire. The numbers weren't _bad_. They were just a little high for his liking.

Something was developing in the yard below. Some men were bringing England outside. Ivan cocked his head curiously. What on earth were they doing? He saw the men binding the petite nation – well, he had been small to Russia _before_ all this mess – to a sturdy post. Ah. So that was their plan. England must have made them very mad to cause the soldiers to want to execute him. Perhaps he had made them eat his cooking?

This simply wouldn't do.

Ivan had seen no sign of Canada since they had parted. The young nation was a skilled fighter; the Russian could acknowledge talent when he saw it, yet the Canadian had too gentle a soul to follow through with the type of carnage needed to get out of this situation. America was another matter entirely. Ivan had seen him fight several times through the years. His blood thirst wasn't as great as Ivan's, though it was certainly part of him just as much as it was a part of Russia. Not that it was entirely America's fault. He had been torn apart by civil unrest during his infancy as a nation – Russia knew from experience that being divided by violence left cracks that no amount of time could heal.

America had tasted blood as a child. And he'd grown to like it. If he didn't act like such an idiot all the time, he would have made an excellent killing companion for Russia. Unfortunately, the American nation had lost the single-minded drive to kill after the Second War, and now he just flashed a gun and some bravado until he got his way. Russia felt a little sorry for his sometimes rival. Trying to rile the other nation's darker nature, to coax out the part of America that Ivan had admired, respected – and maybe feared, just a little bit – had never panned out. He'd given up completely somewhere around the mid-seventies when all the sport went out of the effort. No, America wasn't going to be of much help here either.

Basically, Ivan was all by himself if he wanted to get this done and over with. Just like normal.

The boy danced the gun over the image of each head of the soldiers, debating who would go first. They had lined up in front of where England was bound to form the firing squad. Their line was sloppy – no real discipline amongst these children. Ivan made his choice. He started humming again, lips curling in a delicate smile as he squeezed the trigger.

Ha. Ha ha! The soldier's head exploded like a smashed watermelon through the lens of the rifle. Maybe there was something to be said about these ranged weapons after all. One soldier down, many more to go.

* * *

Arthur leant against the post to prevent his feet from getting tired. He attempted to gather enough gumption to appear appropriately frightened with these circumstances. In the end, he just didn't care that much. Arthur was already fed up.

How long had it been since he'd last been standing in front of a firing squad like this? Close to the three hundred year mark, wasn't it? Ah, yes – the last occasion had been when he'd gotten a little too careless at a port in Denmark. In his defense he had been quite drunk at the time and it made him too brave. He really shouldn't have gone swaggering through a town that had his wanted posters tacked up on every available surface. It had been a quick capture, a fast trial and a speedy execution. They'd riddled him with bullets, which had been extremely painful. That had sobered him up enough to know that he should play dead. When it was over the locals had tossed him in a pit. Arthur, though, had been at the peak of his health at the time – a strong, powerful empire - and came crawling out a few hours later with nothing to show for it except ruined clothes that stank of reeking corpses.

Guns were more powerful these days. He'd been shot quite a few times during both World Wars and it had certainly felt like it hurt more than it had in the past. Arthur flicked his eyes over the rifles that the soldiers were using. He was nowhere near as strong as he used to be. There was actually a strong chance that this time around it might actually kill him. If he died here, then what would happen to Alfred? Arthur scowled.

This entire affair had turned into one royal bloody clusterfuck.

A sharp crack of a gun sounded and Arthur braced himself for pain, refusing to flinch. His open view gave him a close up of a soldier's head as it exploded. Arthur had to turn his face aside to avoid a backsplash of blood and brain bits as they sprayed him. He nearly retched as something warm and slimy skimmed down his cheek only to drop into the collar of the shirt Alfred had loaned him. The American probably wouldn't want it returned to him now.

Confusion was instantaneous in the aftermath. The soldiers were caught up in it so that by the time they could respond, three more of the men had been picked off. Arthur wagered, by the clean efficiency of the shots alone, that it was Ivan behind these bullets. One of the soldiers staggered close as his neighbor was shot, seeking cover behind the post. Arthur lifted up his leg and kicked him roughly in the stomach to send him reeling the other way. It left the soldier open enough to receive a shot to the chest. Now that was a prime example of teamwork!

The ropes binding Arthur in place came loose. He saw that Matthew had appeared out of thin air beside him. The Canadian had quite the habit of vanishing in and out of sight like that. Arthur ducked down low with him, bracing a hand against Matthew's shoulder to keep steady. Other soldiers were pouring out of the side buildings intent on handling the threat that had set upon them. Arthur did not see the commander amongst their numbers. He slid his hand to Matthew's hip and withdrew the Canadian's spare handgun from its holster, shouting to him over the sound of the chaos and Ivan's steady stream of gunfire. "Alfred is back inside the main building. Their leader doesn't appear to be out here, and their numbers are considerable! We need to make some sort of escape that they cannot give chase."

Matthew nodded grimly. "If they are distracted long enough, I can disable their vehicles. We can make a break for the jeep. What are we going to do about Alfred?"

"I'll fetch him. Sabotage their vehicles as the opportunity arises, but make sure that you keep them from getting to Ivan. We're going to need his cover fire."

"Understood." Matthew wasn't very talkative in the heat of battle. It was a nice change from his brother. The Canadian waited until it seemed safe enough to move as he surged out into the chaos of the running soldiers. Matthew shot a few men that were closing in on Ivan's location as he strafed to the cover of the garage.

Arthur waited to the count of three before making his own way out into the fray. He raced to the door of the larger building, twisting to shoot a soldier that leveled a gun at him. Arthur did not even wait to watch the man crumple. He dove behind the cover of some supply crates as a shower of bullets chased his heels, rolling onto a knee once he'd landed. The door wasn't very far away from his spot – just far enough away that he wouldn't be able to avoid their bullets. Arthur counted the rounds, dipping his head down lower as part of the crate splintered and showered wood into his hair. As soon as they had to stop to reload, Arthur stretched up to fire a few badly angled shots back at them. He heard one of them cry out in pain and knew that he'd managed to at least get in a hit.

When the building's door burst open, Arthur expected to see a fresh wave of soldiers come pouring outside. Those extra numbers would have put them at an even greater disadvantage. Their chances would have diminished from slim to none. His back was exposed to this new threat. Arthur brought his gun up to open fire. Only years of honing his reflexes allowed him to avoid pulling the trigger, just in time, as Alfred came stomping through the opened door.

The American had a semi-automatic gun in his right hand. He swung it in a slow arch, bullets sweeping across the soldiers who had been firing upon Arthur's location. Alfred was already a mess from battling men inside the building. His left arm had blood running down it from having taken a bullet. Adrenaline made him immune to the pain. Despite his injuries, the American looked gleeful. That bastard was actually _enjoying_ himself!

Arthur lurched up from his spot, running until he was back to back with Alfred so that they could provide each other cover. He growled harshly, "You didn't have to take your bloody time getting out here, you bastard."

"Ha ha! Good to see you too, Arthur!" Alfred brightly declared with a smile to the shorter nation brushing against his spine. He fired a spray of bullets into a trio of soldiers that came running around the building, shouting to the Englishman behind him. "Don't you worry your massively-eyebrowed head – I'm here to save you. I've got this totally under control."

The American's bold statement nearly caused Arthur to falter with his gun. He regained control of himself just in time to open fire on another soldier. "I don't need you to bloody _rescue_ me, you twat! I'm already rescued. What we need is to _escape_."

"Oh. Yeah. Okay." Alfred went silent and pointed his handgun towards the opened door as a few men came running out, shooting the first soldier and sending him stumbling back into the others. "Hm. I didn't bother coming up with a plan for that part of things. Sorry!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Not surprised. I am so not surprised. We need to get to the jeep! Can you provide enough cover fire to make it?"

"Leave it to me!"

Alfred marched backwards at a fast pace as Arthur broke away, the two of them running for the jeep. The American managed to keep most of the hostiles occupied by sending a steady stream of gunfire into their ranks. Arthur had a soldier come running in front of them from beside the jeep. He took aim at the man, only to find that his gun fired impotently when he pulled the trigger. Out of bullets. Arthur was forced to launch himself at the soldier, slapping aside the gun that was pointed at his chest. He rolled his weight forward so that he knocked the man down. The Englishman gave him a rough punch in the face. It served four purposes: The soldier was knocked out, Arthur stole his gun for himself, found the keys to the jeep in the man's upper pocket and punching someone like that felt damned good.

He caught sight of Alfred tossing his empty handgun away, the American's hand yanking Arthur up by the fabric of his shirt to propel the Englishman onto his feet that much faster. Arthur wasted no time climbing into the jeep to get it started. The engine roared to life, audible even over the cacophony of gunfire. Alfred hopped up into the backseat, taking a grip on the side of the vehicle to keep from falling over as Arthur floored the gas pedal.

Arthur whipped the jeep around in the direction of the garages. That was where he'd last seen Matthew headed. He didn't see the Canadian in all of the mess – several of the vehicles were ablaze already, so obviously Matthew had made good on his offer to prevent the soldiers from chasing after them. Arthur had not even begun to slow down when Matthew threw himself into the passenger's seat. The Canadian was singed all over, even that stubborn curl of hair at the front of his head was burnt on the end. Matthew clung to the seat to keep himself from falling out of the side of the vehicle, shouting at Arthur. "Go, go, go!"

"We can't leave Ivan!" Arthur yelled back as he slammed on the brake hard enough to send the entire jeep spinning around in a tight circle. The gearshift was grinding threateningly in protest as the Englishman forced it a little too quickly, Arthur raced towards the building that Ivan had been perched upon. He caught sight of the boy as Ivan came hurrying around the corner, his jacket open and flapping since he'd had no time to button it up. The Russian's scarf was billowing behind him like a streamer of ivory.

Another military jeep appeared on the scene, heading straight at them. Arthur cursed as he forced their vehicle to make another spin to avoid crashing. He had a strong feeling that he knew who was inside of that other jeep – and he didn't want to give the commander any more time with which to catch them. The Englishman couldn't very well slow them down enough to let Ivan catch up. If the boy didn't reach them in time then Arthur was going to have no choice in the matter.

Ivan didn't even lose a step as the other jeep came rushing past him. He strafed aside to avoid it, stretching a hand out in front of him to attempt to catch hold of their vehicle. Alfred was busy maintaining their cover fire. He finally noticed the boy running up behind them. The American dropped the gun to the seat and stretched across the back of the jeep. His long arm reached across the distance until Ivan's fingers brushed against the tips of his. Alfred jerked a little further forward and clenched his hand around the boy's, yanking him up and over. It was a clumsy move. Too much forward and reverse momentum to keep them balanced. Alfred had enough time to catch Ivan underneath his forearm before the two of them went spilling onto the floor of the jeep in the back.

The other jeep was closing in on them. Arthur ducked his head as a bullet went whizzing past his head, splintering the windshield in front of his face. With Alfred in a pile in the backseat, they had lost their cover. "There's no way that we'll be able to shake them."

"I'm on it!" Matthew said as the Canadian went into action. He pulled himself around the passenger seat, stepping onto the pile of flailing limbs in the backseat. Matthew sank down low into the cushion as he drew out his knife. With a few slices, he managed to sever the rope that tied their barrel of gasoline to the rear of the jeep. Matthew shoved at it with the heel of his palm, muscles bunching as he forced it to roll away in the wake of their tire tracks.

The Canadian felt a sharp pain in his right arm, followed by a burning sensation. He knew that a bullet had hit. Matthew grit his teeth against the sudden ache and switched his handgun into his unwounded grip. The barrel was rolling in a clumsy line right into the path of the oncoming jeep. He squinted, took aim, and fired at it.

Soldiers threw themselves free of their jeep just in time, as that barrel lodged itself underneath the front bumper. There was a sudden flare of fire, followed by a broad explosion that sent the other jeep flipping skyward. Matthew cocked his handgun onto his shoulder and viewed his work with a satisfied smirk. "That's how we roll in Canada, eh!" Alfred had managed to stick his head up just in time to view the explosion. He dazedly held up a hand to Matthew in order to accept the Canadian's eager high-five.

Arthur could see the ball of flame coiling up into the air in the mirror. Black smoke billowed out of the front of the other jeep. He could see the commander climbing gingerly up to his feet. How unfortunate that they hadn't been able to take him out. That man was too dangerous. Arthur had met many men like that in his time. A slight like this would never be forgiven. He hoped that they could manage to avoid him on the way back to Geneva. Otherwise, Arthur had his doubts that the commander would think twice about trying to kill them all the next time around.

* * *

The Englishman kept their speed high as he raced them away from the camp, the smoke visible even when they had driven several miles. Only when they couldn't see it anymore did he finally de-accelerate them to a milder pace. His hands had become unsteady on the wheel, knuckles white as Arthur struggled not to let them start trembling. Alfred leaned near his seat after a time to speak to him. "Arthur. Pull over. I think we're far enough away that they won't be able to find us."

"R-right. Right." Arthur nodded as he guided the jeep back into the cover of the forest through a small clearing. Snow had begun to lightly fall again. It would help to hide their tracks from anyone that managed to follow them. They were safe for the time being. Now was the time to regroup from everything that had happened.

There were still plenty hours left of daylight. They'd need it, all of it, if they were going to get everything situated into place. Setting up camp was out of the question – all of their well-packed equipment had been sorted through and was now in a mess. It would take some work just to get it fixed. Arthur searched through his bag for their medical supplies. "First we need to tend to your injuries, boys."

"Mine isn't too bad." Matthew said as he slid his coat off. The bullet had torn his sleeve from where it had hit, stained now with blood from the wound. He shivered as the cold wrapped around him, twisting his arm so that he could assess the injury. "It looks like they just grazed me, that's it."

Arthur nodded, tossing a small bottle of disinfectant to Ivan. "Russia, would you mind cleaning Matthew's arm for me? I'm going to start tending to Alfred."

"Not a problem, England." Ivan said pleasantly as he accepted some packets of sterile cloths from the Englishman. With items in hand, the boy indicated for the Canadian to sit. "Ah, down now, Canada. This is probably going to hurt."

"What about your injuries, Russia?" The Canadian asked him as he took in all the blood that dotted the boy's clothes, face and hair.

Ivan laughed quietly, his smile turning absent as he began to open the packets. "Oh, don't worry. None of this is mine. You are so kind to be concerned about me, Canada."

Arthur saw that the Canadian had gone paler. He allowed himself to pretend that it was only due to the upcoming pain and not because of Ivan. Alfred had settled down to sit on the ground, his back resting against the trunk of a tree. The American's adrenaline was wearing off. Alfred was favoring his wounded arm with a grimace, hand clenched over the spot. Arthur settled onto his knees beside the other nation. He should have been cold without a jacket on. The only explanation that he could fathom was that shellshock was keeping his body too numb to acknowledge the temperature. Arthur would work with it while it lasted.

"Let me see your arm, Alfred."

"No. It's fine. I'll just wrap it up with some bandages and it will be good as new in no time." The American smiled. "Seriously, Arthur, it's nothing. Though I'd be obliged if you could help me clean up my head. It feels nasty."

"If you're sure…" Arthur didn't argue with him for a change. It didn't seem worthwhile to force the issue. The paper of the packet crinkled as Arthur pinched it open. He drenched it with disinfectant from his own bottle, folding it carefully as he brought it up to Alfred's head. The American hissed in through clenched teeth as the sting of it touched that tender spot on his temple. Arthur was pleased to note that it was already healing.

"What about you, Arthur? Are you okay?" Alfred asked him in a voice tense from pain. He did his best to sit still as Arthur worked, though his head instinctively wanted to yank away.

"I'm not injured."

"That's not what I asked." Alfred said more quietly. "Are you… okay?"

Arthur stopped, a fresh folded cloth hovering just above Alfred's skin. His answer was faint, husky. "I'm all right. It's just… I was frightened back there. Frightened for us – mostly for you. I haven't felt like that for a long time."

The American leaned in to wind his unwounded arm around Arthur. He found himself being drawn into a tight, warm embrace by the younger nation. Arthur's flushed, eyes darting to where the other nations sat. Both Ivan and Matthew were too occupied to have seen it. Alfred's fist pressed between his shoulders and Arthur doubted that the American would have let go even if they had witnesses.

"Aw, now, there wasn't much to be worried about." Alfred's voice was forcibly lighthearted, releasing Arthur only when the older nation had relaxed. "You don't give us enough credit. No way in hell would we ever go down like that. I mean – just look at us: You're the British Empire that snarls in the face of danger and spits in the eye of every rival. I'm the utterly awesome United States of America! I eat warfare for breakfast with a side of fries and a super-sized soda. Those guys should have _thanked_ us for escaping when we did. We're invincible"

"You truly believe that, don't you?" Arthur couldn't help feeling awed as he studied the American's face.

"Of course! I'm sure that there have been studies conducted that prove my immunity to dying. It's one of my super powers as - you know - a super power. I have infinite lives and whatnot. I fear nothing in this world." Alfred bragged, proudly puffing his chest out.

"That's good. So you won't be the least bit squeamish when I start digging the bullet out of your arm, then." Arthur said with an enigmatic smile. Gathering the used medical supplies into a pile, the Englishman twisted around to speak to Ivan. "May I borrow your knife, Ivan? I need to get—"

There was a sudden series of scratching sounds behind him. Arthur's gaze returned to the tree in time to see the American scrambling up its trunk like a spooked feline. He choked on a sound that was both a laugh and an exasperated sigh, as Arthur tilted his head to peer up into the top of the tree where Alfred had retreated, the American's figure shuddering all over with the prospect of Arthur's suggestion. The Englishman clutched all the supplies in his hands as he stood, eyes rolling skyward as he abandoned Alfred's spot. "Britannia formally withdraws his proposal - I bow in the face of your fearlessness, America. Please try not the break any bones on the way down."

* * *

A/N: Alfred's entire battle sequence? Definitely scored by the theme song from the old A-Team show. Fuck yeah!


	12. Chapter 12

This would have been out sooner, but I got wrapped up in refreshing myself with historical events for _World Conference:AP_. Thank you to everyone who have left your kind words of encouragement for both pieces!

I felt that I should clarify a piece of information that I might have neglected to make clear over the course of this fiction. The timeline of this story has actually spread across the course of several months. I tried to keep a little accuracy with their travels - how long it would take to travel across the nations by vehicle, on foot, etc. Basically, our intrepid adventurers are coming to the end of their third month of being on this journey. Like the geek that I am, I actually have it all plotted out on a calendar on my desk.

If there is any confusion over why Alfred and Matthew are not so handicapped by their injuries anymore, hopefully that tidbit clears it up. I apologize for not being clear about it.

* * *

"General Winter is losing his touch." Ivan piped up as he leaned over the side of the jeep to survey the landscape racing by.

It was a welcome sight to Arthur on that morning when the reaching grasp of the snow began to recede to unearth the contrast of deep green. This verdant hue was the dark shade of winter; its true vibrancy had been frozen so that it would never realize its true potential to shine. Green like this was reserved for wild outcroppings in high hills, jutting from between relics of stone castles; it could be seen in the sprawling vines that choked those ancient man-made structures, eroding any trace of them away with time, reclaiming them back into the earth – back into him, like a breath of fresh air.

Everything there was green and green and green. This wasn't quite _his_ green, but it was _a_ green, and Arthur loved it. He inhaled deeply, drawing in air that was less harsh than the winter type; his eyes sought to close with pleasure, lashes fluttering as Arthur forced them to remain open. They were approaching civilized territory again and after the fiasco with the military he did not want to risk driving them into some sort of trap.

"It reminds me of home." Matthew said quietly from the passenger seat. He sounded as homesick as Arthur felt. How long had it been since the Canadian had seen his homeland? Three months? Arthur could sympathize with that unavoidable longing for the familiar.

Alfred scooted up to the edge of his seat, leaning forward to clasp his arms around the headrest of Matthew's seat. A smile played over his lips as he spoke to his brother. "What are you going to do when you get home, Mattie?"

Matthew blinked. "I don't know. I guess I haven't thought about it. Search for Kumijiro – see if he has wandered off into the wild or not. Maybe catch a hockey game in the area. Simple stuff. You?"

Alfred turned a musing sound in his throat a few times as he thought it over. "First, I'd give my boss a big hug. The poor guy has had a lot on his shoulders – even before everything went down. Second, I am going to swing by the house and pick up Tony. Then we'll take a cross-country road trip so that I can see for myself how bad the damage is." He turned his face towards Arthur's seat. "What about you, Arthur? Got any plans for when you get home?"

"Check on the progress that has been made in getting the United Kingdom into a semblance of order. Make certain that the armed services are being utilized properly – perhaps withdraw them temporarily from our foreign posts to assist with the extensive search and rescue that probably isn't being conducted on the scale it needs to. Then pressure Parliament into creating a monetary fund to aid those who were effected by the—"

"I don't mean on the business end of things." Alfred said wryly. "Of course that's the first thing to come into your head. You always have work on your mind." He teased the other man, earning a glare from the elder nation. "I meant what you were going to do when you got _home_."

"Oh. You might have specified better." Arthur shook his head. "That's rather easy: I intend to lock myself in the house for an entire week. I'll finally finish the embroidery that I'd started before my visit to France. And if Francis comes anywhere near my house during that time, I'll fetch my old powder-loaded shotgun from storage so that I can have the satisfaction of shooting him through the window. I intend to gorge myself on nothing but scones and Earl Grey the entire time. It will be blissful and quiet."

Alfred scoffed, skeptical. "You're telling me that you don't intend to drink anything _else_? Are you sure that you're really England?"

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows at the American's insinuation. He tried to look indignant, deflating into a slump as he added, "I suppose that I might very well fill the bath with whiskey and drink my way to the bottom. It's a lovely piece of fantasy. Though I think that I've rightly earned it."

"Is anyone going to ask me what I will do when I get home?" Ivan asked cheerfully. His violet eyes flitted between the other three nations, round face eager.

Alfred locked a blank stare on the boy. "No. We've had enough of trauma without you describing the crazy stuff you do in the privacy of your home. Besides, we're on your turf right now. We had a fairly good preview of the things you do here."

The boy's smiling expression did not change in the slightest bit as he stared back at the American. Then Ivan's face twisted to the front seats, clearly intending to ignore whatever had just come out of Alfred's mouth. "Russia likes to curl up in front of the fire. I'll probably have to chop more wood when I return to my house. And my garden will be dead, so I will try to fix it. Again. Then I will polish my spigot." Longing swept over his youthful features. Both hands lifted up in front of him, Russia's fingers flexing as if they missed feeling the cold metal of the pipe.

"Right, sure." Alfred's voice was tinged with doubt, his next words spoken at a mutter under his breath. "At what point would you sit down to a nice dinner of babies, I wonder?"

"Ah ha ha! America is so funny." Ivan giggled at the other nation's words, knowing that the American would have said them more quietly if he hadn't intended to be overheard. His hand stretched up to pat the bigger man on the shoulder, small fingers settling on the juncture where America's collarbone began. The Russian's smile extended as he flexed those fingers in a subtle pinch that made Alfred choke, all of the American's muscles stiffening. "You should really tell your jokes loud enough for everyone to hear them, though. It's very rude to keep them all to yourself, da?"

Arthur's eyes shifted in the mirror, as the desperate choking sounds coming out of the backseat finally caught his attention. He sighed roughly. "Russia, please release America's pressure point. America, stop with provoking Russia. Honestly, if the two of you can't behave yourselves then I shall have no choice but to leave one of you behind."

"Sorry, England." Ivan said with a pout as he let go of Alfred's shoulder. The American breathed heavily with relief, rubbing his shoulder with a wince as he tentatively rotated his arm to test that it wasn't broken or dislocated. He didn't bother with an apology, scowling out the side of the jeep instead.

Matthew poked at Arthur's arm with a few fingers to bring his attention back to the front. "It looks like we've reached the city."

"Indeed." The open land had become dotted with rural buildings. Arthur could see the spread of the city in front of them. "Ivan? Is it safe?"

Ivan's head cocked to the side as if he were listening to some faraway music. "Hm. Da. It seems safe enough. Keep in mind, though, that we are getting close to the border of Mongolia. Some of these people aren't mine."

"Everyone stay on alert, then. If possible, we should stop here to restock and refuel."

"This will be a good place." Ivan said agreeably. "Kyzyl is a capital city, you know. Very culturally blended between Russia and Mongolia. We can probably find anything we need here. We could even take _khoomei_ lessons!" He noticed that the others were giving him weird looks from his suggestion. Ivan's pale eyebrow lifted as he met their stares. "...Throat singing? Not popular in your homelands?"

Arthur made a polite laugh. "Ah, yes – _khoomei_, right. It's a very admirable… ah… art form, and…" His words pattered off, before he brightened. "Oh, look! We've arrived."

* * *

They ended up stopping at a small shopping plaza towards the center of the city. Their military vehicle earned them a few worried looks from the people who milled around the parking lot. Arthur led the others into the market, going over the list that he'd made one more time to be sure that they wouldn't forget anything. "All right. Canned goods, new tarps – they took the last of our non-perishables, too. We'll need more batteries for the lights. It also wouldn't hurt to pick up a few lighters. Ours are about out of fluid."

Alfred nodded in agreement. "We should get you a new jacket, too. Your old one is toast."

"That would be wise." The Englishman nodded as he added it to the list. "I can't keep borrowing Matthew's spare. The important thing is that we get this done in a timely fashion – I don't want to dally." Arthur began to tear the paper into segments, handing each of them a part followed by a stern warning. "Each of you will be in charge of gathering these items. We will meet at the registers in thirty minutes. No nonsense, no delays, no disruptions! Is that understood?"

They went their separate ways. Arthur took up a small basket to deposit his items in, looping it through his arm as he went. He wasn't familiar with the layout of the store but figuring out where everything generally was didn't take much labor. Walking down an aisle, the Englishman pulled his portion of the list up in front of him to double check the items.

A cart went rolling by down at the end. The wheels squealed, though the sound was muffled by a pleased giggle that sounded suspiciously like Ivan's. Arthur dragged his eyes up from the paper yet the cart had already vanished into the next section, so he couldn't be certain if it had been the Russian boy or not. He shrugged nonchalantly and grabbed packages of batteries off the shelf. Next on his list were emergency flares. Would they be in the automotive section?

Arthur followed the arrows of the signs hanging overhead. He passed a segment for house wares, after that came some aisles full of colorful toys, and Arthur spotted the automotive section just beyond it. There was a racket of noise that came from the aisle of toys as he went by, as though someone were pushing the buttons of every single plaything that made sounds. Arthur felt his right eye threaten to twitch as those noises were dotted by a familiar, idiotic laugh.

No. No! He wouldn't cause a scene. Arthur was a pillar of calm, of serenity. Yes – listen to the little tune pumping through speakers high above. He nodded to himself. America would get tired of it soon enough and finish his tasks. There was no reason to go yell at him.

However, his passing by had somehow managed to attract the American's attention regardless of Arthur's efforts to ignore him. He heard the quiet squeak of shoes hurrying up behind him and suddenly the basket was being slid off his arm. Arthur's eyes averted to Alfred as the younger nation stole it away though he did not fight it being taken from his care. The American must have sensed his unspoken question, Alfred's lips curving up as he swung the basket at his side. "Thought I'd be polite. You've been doing all the driving – I figured I might as well keep you from being the pack mule, too."

"How very considerate." Left with nothing to occupy his hands, Arthur settled for crossing his arms against his chest. "Are you done playing around, then?"

Alfred at least had the sense to look embarrassed for having been caught. His sheepish smile always gave him such a charming appeal. It had already earned a few appreciative glances from different women as they walked together. Somehow that irked Arthur more than it should have. The Englishman's lips thinned. "Why are you following me, anyway? Have you finished with your list?"

"Nope. I haven't even started. I decided that it would be more fun if I waited for you. We can hang out together and be all domestic." Alfred explained. His smile had become a full-fledged grin. He was entirely too pleased with himself over _something_. Not that Arthur could, for the life of him, fathom what that might be. As valiantly as he had tried over the years, his brain still could not decode American logic.

"V-very well. Just try not to be so distracting." Arthur muttered. He felt his face growing hot. Good Lord, he wasn't _blushing_ now, was he?

Alfred's eyebrows lifted. The American was radiating smug vibes now. "Oh. You find me distracting?"

"I didn't—" Arthur stopped in his tracks with an upturned glare. "Don't try to—" He threw his hands skyward in surrender and stomped his way into the next aisle. Goddamned infuriating brat and his cheeky insinuations!

He didn't bother to look to see if the American was following him. Arthur could feel the presence of the taller nation there at his back, hovering like a second shadow. The Englishman took his time searching the shelves with a withering glare. Once upon a time, brave men had trembled under the weight of that look. These consumer products just sat there and mocked him. Arthur roughly grabbed a handful of flares when he found them, throwing them carelessly into the basket. "What's on your list, Alfred?"

"Uh, it…" Alfred drew his slip of paper out of the pocket of his jacket. It had been crumpled up, so he had to balance the basket on his arm as he tried to smooth it out. He brought it up a few inches from his better eye. "I have some groceries. Cans of stuff."

"Clear on the opposite side of the market." Arthur's sardonic tone was unmistakable. He airily waved the American to follow him. "Let's go, then."

They went passing by a broad section of the market that had many clothes on different racks. Arthur found himself being taken by the sleeve, pulled off course by the American as Alfred dragged him that way. "Hey, we need to get you a coat, remember? Might as well do that while we're here. It will save us a trip back this direction."

"Right, right." Arthur shook himself free with a huff. He frowned around them at all the racks. It was the middle of summer – would there even be jackets in this season? Then again, this was Russia. There, in a corner, were a few passable looking ones. Arthur drifted to the rack to inspect the selection.

The choices were limited. None of the ones he would have preferred could have fit him. Arthur's hope sank further and further as he thumbed through the lot. His mind was nagging a whisper at the back of his head. Sure, one jacket in particular had the ideal structure – hood, lining on the interior, enough padding to shelter him from the cold – Arthur let the pressure of his mind get the best of him as he checked the size. It would have been a perfect fit, except…

He dropped his hand quickly away. "I really don't need a new jacket. This one should do just fine."

Alfred had been daydreaming nearby. He'd lost interest as soon as they'd reached the racks. Now he blinked in confusion. "What? Don't be silly, Arthur. Matthew's spare isn't even a proper coat. You've been shivering the entire time you've had it on." The American brushed up against his shoulder. "There has to be something here that fits."

"There is, but…"

"What's the problem? Are they ugly or funny looking? It's not like we're going to judge if you have to walk around in a weird jacket, Arthur." Alfred chuckled with a shake of the head. "Seriously – I never would have figured you to be so particular on what you're wearing. That seems more like Poland's angle."

"I'm not worried about my own discomfort. I'm worried for yours. Or are you honestly going to tell me that you'd be perfectly fine with me walking around in this?" Arthur slipped a hanger off the rack, holding up that particular jacket. His right eyebrow lifted quizzically. Alfred blinked at the coat that Arthur had thrust in front of his face. He took in a quick breath and held it, confirming Arthur's concerns with that act alone.

Because that jacket, while being precisely what he needed, was the perfectly _right_ shade of red.

"I see that my point hasn't been lost on you. What a relief." Arthur said lightly, forcing a smile in an attempt to alleviate the sudden tense mood. He replaced the jacket on the rack and turned away. "Come along. Let's go get those groceries, Alfred."

"No, wait." Alfred lifted a hand up to stop him from leaving. His face underwent subtle changes as they toyed with a range of emotions. It finally landed on determined, the line of his jaw going taut as Alfred made up his mind. He yanked the hanger off the rack and pushed it against Arthur's chest. "Just get the stupid jacket, man. It's not a big deal."

Arthur had to either accept the jacket or let it fall to the floor. He curled his fingers over the hanger, eyes narrowing with suspicion at the American. The other nation wasn't entirely convincing despite his dismissive words. Arthur lowered his eyes to the coat, running his fingers along the downy faux-fur that lined the interior of the hood. It would feel really nice. He drummed the tips of his fingers along the stiffened shoulder of the jacket as a thought entered his mind.

"Fine. I'll take it, but only on one condition."

Alfred was smirking, the oblivious act fully in place. "Yeah, sure. What's that?"

Arthur swung his arm up and pointed to the nearby dressing room. His other hand held the jacket out to the American. "You have to put it on me."

"That sounds like a silly condition." Alfred's face turned aside but not in time to hide the splotch of pink on his cheek.

"Take it or I leave it." Arthur shrugged. He waited patiently to see if the other nation was going to accept or refuse the open challenge.

"Okay! Geez." Alfred yanked the jacket out of Arthur's grip, the basket swinging unsteadily on his arm as he stalked over to the dressing room. He pushed the door open a little harder than necessary, hand cutting through the air as he waved Arthur inside.

After stepping inside of the cramped box, Arthur's calm began to dissolve as he started to question the wisdom in making Alfred do this. It was rather late to start entertaining doubts now, considering the fact that the American had already set the basket down outside, stepped in behind him, and shut the door firmly. He hadn't been entirely fair to Alfred by making such a demand. "Alfred, perhaps we should just—"

"No. You're the one that issued the challenge, so don't even think about backing down now." Alfred said in a quiet rush of words. He slid the jacket off the hanger, face smoothed blank. Arthur sighed internally, shrugged, and turned his back to the other nation. The sooner they got this done, the better.

Arthur had become cautious about wearing the color red while in Alfred's company. The last time he could remember ever having worn it in front of the American had been right before the First Great War. Arthur could recall the look on Alfred's face when he had arrived to being mobilizing his forces, only to find Arthur waiting for him in that old coat of his empire years. That color on him, between them, somehow always conjured pain. So Arthur had given it up, without acknowledging the real reason behind it, shutting away all of his red coats in a deep closet. Now they were just old, painful mementos.

Alfred had been the one determined to get everything worked out. It would have been such a simplistic act, if it didn't mean something to the American on some level. Arthur took stock in the fact that he was, if anything, helping Alfred to put one more thing behind them. Considering how unhappy Alfred was right now, the subtle symbolism hadn't escaped the American's notice.

Their mutual silence was interrupted by the quiet sound of a zipper being drawn. Arthur was grateful that he wasn't facing Alfred. His face went scarlet as his mind dropped immediately into the gutter. He was as bad as France sometimes! It was a sobering thought. Arthur surreptitiously pinched the top of his hand to chase that inappropriate reaction away. Alfred cleared his throat loudly and Arthur belatedly stuck his arms behind him so that the American could slide the coat on.

It seemed that Alfred took his time. The sleeves of the jacket were unhurriedly pulled up the lengths of Arthur's arms, until he felt the soft weight of it settling on his shoulders. Arthur brought his hands up to adjust how it rested on his body, only to find his hands being knocked aside by Alfred's. The American had stepped around in front of him, Alfred's eyes serious and intent while Arthur's own green ones questioned his actions.

Alfred took control of adjusting the jacket. He squared it properly on the Englishman's frame, so that everything was balanced. His voice was just above a strained whisper, hands smoothing the fabric of the jacket against the front of Arthur's shoulders. "There. Looks like it fits."

"I can't be sure. It still needs to be zipped up." Arthur pointed out. That warmth filled him again, emboldening him enough that he could shove his usual embarrassment aside. Alfred was standing close, so close that he felt the heat radiating from the American's body. His eyes were fixed on Alfred's face, finally locking onto that wavering blue gaze and pinning it in place so that the American would look nowhere else as Arthur inched forward so that their bodies touched together.

"England…" Alfred spoke his name as nothing more than a weak breath. He couldn't escape those green eyes, as if they had pierced through straight through him. "I…"

Arthur unfurled his index finger and pressed it lightly to Alfred's stammering mouth. The corners of his lips shaped a phantom smile. Seeing the American flustered like this was quite an attractive sight. "America. Zip the damned coat." The words were intimate, commanding, and having the opportunity to talk to the younger nation in this manner made his stomach tighten.

And America, God bless him, squeezed his hands between them to take hold of both sides of the zipper and did exactly as he was told. Alfred had some trouble with it since his fingers shook, though it wasn't from fear or cold or any of the usual culprits. He dragged the zipper up slowly, the teeth quietly clicking together, until it stopped just underneath Arthur's chin. His eyes had been watching the zipper ascend with fascination. When it reached its end, they flitted back up to meet Arthur's. "…There. Satisfied?"

"Almost." Arthur pressed closer, that crimson jacket scraping against the fabric of Alfred's. He flattened a palm on the American's chest, pushing up on the toes of his boots. It was outright lecherous of him – it was downright inappropriate – yet Arthur simply couldn't give a damn, as he stretched his face up to Alfred's, lips parting as his tongue snuck out and slid a lazy line up across the American's mouth in the same exact spot where he'd put his finger just seconds before.

It pleased him to feel the muscles under his palm shudder in response to his action. Arthur relented quickly, withdrawing from the American with a mild smile. He unzipped the jacket with a casual motion, as if he hadn't just tasted Alfred's mouth with his tongue. "Yes. It fits. I think I'll take it, then."

He bent to reclaim the basket outside, folding the jacket over the top of it. Arthur smirking to himself as a rather dazed Alfred followed along after him, apparently unable to say or do anything else. Some might have said that he was a royal bastard. England would have conceded that they were probably right. Sniffing delicately, Arthur spoke to Alfred behind him. "Canned goods, you said? Yes, they should be this way."

Matthew and Ivan were waiting for them at the registers. Arthur, despite having been the one to impress punctuality on them before they'd parted, offered no apology for his own tardiness. He'd been handling Alfred, after all, which made anyone's uncharacteristic behaviors entirely excusable. Matthew was leaning against the cart, elbows draped on the handrail as he wheeled the cart slightly back and forth. Ivan stood inside of it, next to the pile of supplies that they'd gathered. The boy climbed over the lip of the cart and dropped down as they approached. "We got everything on the list. I think this should be enough to carry us through Mongolia."

"That was my intention." Arthur replied, as he began unloading their items with a kind smile to the young female cashier who was staring at them all. "I'll handle it from here. Matthew, why don't you and Ivan step out and start getting the jeep ready? We'll need to pack in all of these new supplies without completely overwhelming the backseat. Alfred can stay and help me carry everything out."

Once their purchases had been made and everything was secured in their vehicle, they were ready to start the last leg of their trip in earnest. With some charming persuasion on Ivan's part, they'd even managed to get a good discount on a surplus of gasoline to replace the barrel that had been sacrificed in their getaway from the military camp. Arthur gave the map a thorough study while their jeep was being fueled.

They were nearly there. Nearly there! All it would take was a long drive through Mongolia, down into China. Then it would be a matter of locating Wang Yao and transporting him on the long ride back to Geneva. Perhaps they would even have a spot of luck – it had been several months now. That was certainly enough time for all of their governments to work out some sort of balance, maybe the flight restrictions would have been lifted so that they wouldn't have to risk the trip back through Russia. Arthur allowed himself a glimmer of hope.

They left Kyzyl during the middle of the afternoon. Arthur was convinced that he could stand to drive through the night so that they wouldn't need to stop and camp. It helped them to cover a considerable amount of distance. The only break that they took had been to stretch their legs before entering into the impressive range of mountains where the air was going to be colder and the elements less inviting. Their nearness to their destination had invigorated Arthur's willpower to the point that the Englishman would allow them no more delays. He even managed to tune out the others, ignoring Alfred's whines, Alfred's complaints, Alfred's – all right, so he'd basically tuned out Alfred.

Finally, when the sun was creeping up on the horizon beyond the range of the mountains, Arthur pulled the jeep over to the side of the road. Everyone else had fallen asleep when the endless twisting turns of the mountain path had offered no further interest. The Englishman flexed his fingers on the wheel, blinking out through the windshield. Out in front of them, spread out as far as he could see, was a lush green valley. A long, sloping river ran through it, reflecting the pale colors of the distant sun in rippling yellow. Arthur smiled and shook Matthew awake. "Look. We've finally made it to Mongolia."

Matthew rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands before plucking his glasses up from where he'd hooked them in his upper jacket pocket. He slid them on, lips parting with delight as he marveled at the scenery. "Oh! It's beautiful."

"Should we wake those two up?" Arthur jerked his head towards the backseat. Matthew looked back with him.

Alfred was slumped deep into the backseat, legs stretched out across the leather to cover the entire thing. Having left Ivan nowhere else to go, the boy curled up on the American's chest, pale hands twitching where they hung limply over the side of the seat. Alfred's arm had folded over the Russian boy at some point in time during the night, securing him in place.

Matthew turned back in his seat with a smirk. "Nah. Let them sleep. Though I really wish I had a camera with me. You know that they would never admit to something like this."

"Blackmail is a terrible political move." Arthur murmured. "It's tempting, though. Very tempting."

They chuckled quietly while Arthur pulled the jeep back onto the road. Now that they'd passed the peak of the mountains, the trip would be a smooth, downhill run from here. "Mongolia now, and another three day trip – then our next stop is China. Thank God for small miracles."

* * *

A small caravan of military jeeps sat idle outside of the shopping plaza in Kyzyl. Many of the vehicles looked like they had just received some extensive damage. Some of the soldiers had gone inside; following reports that they had received during their investigation that the men they were searching for had stopped at the location. One of the soldiers came back out after a time with a young woman at his side. He marched her up to the vehicle at the head of the caravan, saluting as he spoke through the window. "We have confirmed the reports, Sir. This young woman claims to have performed a large transaction for them a day and a half ago."

The Commander leaned forward to look the girl over. She looked afraid to find herself in this situation. He smiled, trying to make her feel more at ease. "Don't be afraid, girl. You are not in trouble – you were simply doing your job, yes? Do you remember anything of importance from when you dealt with them?"

"Not really, sir." She shook her head, fidgeting with her work apron. "They bought several items, if I recall correctly. It looked like they were preparing for some outdoors trip. I only knew who your men were asking about because of them being foreigners. The British one was the man that spoke to me most during their transaction. He kept getting angry with the tall foreigner that was with him – American, by the sound of his accent."

"They said nothing to you about where they were heading?"

"No, sir." She shook her head again. Then, as she searched her memory, she perked up. "Wait. I did overhear one of them saying something about Mongolia. It was a small boy that was traveling with them. He, I think, was Russian."

"Mongolia?" The Commander squinted his eyes thoughtfully. "I see…" He waved a hand through the air. "That's all we need, I believe. Young lady, you are free to return to work."

She hurried away, openly relieved to have been dismissed. The soldier saluted again. "What are your orders, Sir?"

"Inform the other drivers – we are heading for Mongolia." The Commander stated, sitting back in his seat. His soldier ran along to deliver the order to the other vehicles, the lights on each jeep turning on as they prepared to follow. He folded his arms together with a pleased smile, murmuring to himself. "Mongolia, hm? Well, we shall see how far they get."

* * *

"Arthur! Arthur! Come on - let's pull over. We've been driving forever now." Alfred's complaints had reached a steady, loud volume. "Look, there's a river over there. We could take a break, wash up a little; maybe enjoy the shade. Come on. Come on, come on, come on—"

"Shut _up_!" Arthur finally had enough. His teeth were bared as he ground them together, the American snapping his patience at last. "I'll pull over. Just please good bloody God in heaven _stop talking_!" The Englishman grumbled under his breath as he steered the jeep into a low overhang of trees, deep into the shade, so that they were hidden from view of the road. Dust curled up around their tires as they parked. Arthur unbelted himself from his seat and grabbed the map from nearby, which he quickly started pelting Alfred over the head with. "There! There! Are you goddamned happy, you insufferable git?"

Alfred fended off the swats with an upraised arm, having extensive practice at deflecting Arthur's temperamental strikes. "Actually, yes, I am. Though it would be better if you stopped hitting me."

Matthew slid out of the passenger seat, abandoning the two of them to their quarrel as he went over the to the edge of the river. The water was deep in some places. He could even see fish swimming by; it was crystal clear, so that Matthew could see the rocks resting on the river's bed. Kneeling down, the Canadian stuck his hand into the water to test its temperature. It was all too inviting. "It feels so nice. You guys should come check it out."

Arthur's tirade had run its course. He stalked around the back of the jeep while pointedly pretending that Alfred was nowhere nearby. The Englishman began unpacking their food supplies. "We might as well have a bite to eat while we're stopped. Ivan, where's the can opener packed away at?"

The Russian boy stretched over the side of the jeep to dig an arm inside one of their bags. He pulled the item out, depositing it into Arthur's waiting hand. "Here you are, England. I am going to go to the water now." Ivan hurried away from the jeep to run up beside Canada. His violet eyes darted over the river with a pleased smile. "Da, da! It would be nice to swim in here, wouldn't it? There's no ice at all."

"I already had a swim in a river." Arthur said darkly as he dropped the pack to the grass. He began to pull some cans of food out. "You boys can enjoy yourselves but I think I shall pass."

Alfred sat down on the grass beside him. Apparently the American forgot that the other man was mad at him. He stretched his long legs out, leaning back against his elbows as he squinted up to the sun through the shade of the trees. "It's hardly the same circumstance. If it makes you feel safer, though, I guess I could hold your hand for you while you're in the water."

Arthur cocked a can of fruit in his hand with the intent to smash it across the younger man's head. He quickly decided that it wasn't worth creating the dent. "You cheeky bastard! I'm the one that taught you how to swim in the first place!"

"Was that what it was?" Alfred's head rolled to the side, eyes falling shut as he let the warmth and the sunlight surround him. "I distinctly remember that you just threw me into a lake a few miles behind the house one day. That was hardly a swimming lesson, Arthur. It was more like attempted murder."

"Would you have actually taken the time to listen to me if I had tried to instruct you properly?"

Alfred smirked. "Eh. Probably not."

"Precisely. You weren't at any risk for drowning as it was. I would have stepped in if I had thought you were in any danger." Arthur shrugged as he began peeling open the can. "My teaching methods were a little unorthodox, but the lesson came across. That's the exact way that I learnt how to swim. Scotland thought it would be funny to throw me in the ocean one day."

"…Really? How did that go for you?"

Arthur made a face. "About as well as could be expected. I was very little at the time and the currents were quite strong. For a while, it was a bit frightening – I became convinced that I was going to perish."

"Did Scotland fish you out?" Alfred opened his eyes to peer at the other man.

"Goodness no. He'd already gone on his way home. I think he was disappointed to find that I'd survived. Though I became an excellent swimmer as a result." Arthur handed him over the opened can. "Enough of the past – eat up. I'd rather not have you complain about being hungry once we get back on the road."

They sat quietly together, Alfred carefully plucking bits of fruit out of the can, watching Ivan and Matthew as the other two began to dress down to get into the water. Ivan had shed his jacket, spreading it carefully out on the grass so that he had somewhere to fold his cherished scarf. He jumped into the river with a pleased laugh, his small figure still managing to send an impressive splash of water showering onto the Canadian nearby. Matthew snapped at him angrily in French, diving in after the boy once he had removed his glasses and his shirt.

Ivan had surfaced just in time to have his head pushed back under the water as Matthew thrust the boy down with his hand. He sputtered water when he came up again, hair turned silver from the moisture. The Russian boy laughed lightly. "Good to see that even Canada has a temper sometimes! I would hate to drown you, though, so please don't try that again, okay?"

"Those two seem like they're having fun." Alfred remarked casually. He'd finished eating and placed the can down on the ground beside him. The American glanced to the man beside him. "It wouldn't hurt you to cut loose like that once in a while."

"Nonsense. I'm too old to engage in that sort of behavior." Arthur brushed some bits of grass off the legs of his trousers. "If you want to play in the water with them then go. You don't need my permission."

Alfred stood in one easy motion, contemplating the distance to the river. Then, his mouth slowly curved in a devious smile. "You're right. I guess I don't need permission, huh?" He angled a sidelong look at Arthur.

The Englishman was distracted with sorting their food, so he was not alert enough to catch the warning tone in Alfred's voice. He yelped, dropping the can opener as he found himself being plucked up off the ground by the American. Arthur squirmed in Alfred's arm as he was hoisted onto the man's shoulder, kicking at the air. "Al-Alfred! Put me down. I have no desire to—" He noticed where they were headed and his struggling protests increased. "Goddamnit, America! Don't you even think about it or I will end you!"

"In we go!" Alfred announced merrily. Matthew and Ivan had time to swim out of the way as he jumped into the water with his unwilling passenger. The river swallowed up Arthur's shouts when they submerged below.

Both of them came up out of the water individually. Alfred tossed his head to shake water out of his face, laughing at the look on Arthur's face. The Englishman's face was an unhealthy shade of purple. It only took five seconds of Alfred's laughter before Arthur had grabbed hold of the American in a headlock, promptly forcing him under the water. "How do you like _that_, you fucking wanker? Riot of laughs now, isn't it?"

"Can I do that to him next?" Ivan asked innocently, openly appreciating Arthur's manner of dealing with the American.

"No one is drowning Alfred." Matthew sighed. "Arthur, let him up for air. He's just being an idiot."

Arthur relented with a huff, treading water as the American's head popped back up from under the water with a gasp for air. "Hey! That wasn't very nice, Arthur. You really could have killed me there."

"I'll endeavor to do better next time." Arthur muttered sullenly as he treaded water.

"You have to admit that it does feel nice in here." Matthew interjected as a means to diffuse any further argument between the two. "It would appear that the temperature is going to rise. This will keep us cool a while longer as we dry off."

"I suppose." The Canadian was, as ever, quick to point out something that was based on reasonable logic. Arthur couldn't argue against it. He grudgingly stayed in the water, pushing his matted hair back out of his face. "You both should get something to eat before we go. I'd prefer not having to stop again for the rest of the day, if we can manage."

"You're a slave driver, Arthur!" Alfred complained. "How can you expect us all to sit still for that long?"

Arthur glared at him. "Out of all of us, you seem to be the only one who has an issue with it. Don't try to tell me that you aren't capable of the level of patience it will take to manage. We're all aware by now that it would be a lie."

"I didn't say that I _couldn't_ do it. I just don't _want_ to do it." Alfred pointed out with a shrug.

"America is such a child sometimes…" Ivan let out a long, weary sigh beside them. The boy began to swim for the edge in order to get out.

That managed to tick off the American. Alfred scowled, snapping after the Russian. "So says the Commie midget! You hardly have room to talk."

"Russia might be small right now, but I am hardly a child." The boy said as he picked his scarf up off his jacket. He wound it slowly around his neck with a vague smile. "America is a baby in comparison. Not even five hundred years yet? Da." Ivan waved him off, heading for the food to select something to eat from their stock.

Alfred sulked from not being able to get the last word. He drifted closer to Arthur with a frown, whispering to him. "How old is that bastard, anyway?"

"Russia?" Arthur turned to look where Ivan was opening up a can of food. "Well, it's difficult to say. As far as I know, there have only been estimations."

"So, what then? Like – turn of the millennium? A thousand years or so ago; that would make him pretty ancient."

Arthur gave the American an incredulous look. "Is that what you consider ancient? You really have no capacity to think beyond that point?"

Alfred shrugged. "The only thing that really ever interested me past the turn of the last two millennium, aside from Jesus, were the dinosaurs. Aside from that, I never really paid attention much to the history of _other_ places."

Arthur shook his head, not at all surprised by the American's admission. He really should have been better at ingraining the other nation with an appreciation for history when he'd been raising him. Alfred could have dutifully spouted every event in his own lifetime; so long as it was a piece of his history – beyond that, he remembered nothing. "Russia is around seven, I think. I'm around five. Though these are just estimations, like I said. We're both from time immemorial, so there is no firm event to tie us to our birth. I've long since forgotten the exact date my life began."

"Wait…" Alfred blinked without comprehension. "Five and seven… hundred?"

"Five and seven _thousand_." Arthur swam to the edge of the river to get out. "So now, in the future, when we refer to you as an irritating infant, you'll know that we mean it precisely as it sounds."

Alfred gaped after him. He was stunned; turning quickly towards Matthew who was the only one left in the water. "Mattie – did you know that they were that old?"

Matthew looked pained. Sometimes, the fact that he was related to a nation as oblivious as Alfred left him feeling depressed. "It wouldn't hurt you to pick up a history book sometime, Alfred. A _world_ history book."

"Maybe…" Alfred went quiet, swimming in place in the water as his brain processed the information. His eyes lit up as a thought popped into his head. "Hey… Do you think that Russia knew the dinosaurs?"

With a disgusted noise, Matthew shoved a hand through the water and splashed his brother directly in the face. "Don't talk to me anymore. I don't know you. You're just an anonymous moron."

* * *

A/N: Evil Commander seeks revenge! Being from Russia, would he be a "Mwa ha ha ha!" villain or a "Kolkolkolkol" type?

And the thing about England has his reluctance to wear red: I might be wrong on that point. He wears a red suit in _Hetalia: Paint It White!_ and I've seen some official art of him wearing red ties - but never anything more than that. It is a shame, though. He looks _good_ in red.


	13. Chapter 13

Wow! I can't believe that I'm already up to Chapter 13 of this story. It is coming to a close soon, so don't worry about there never being a resolution!

This chapter has some dark things in it. I hope that it comes across like I'd meant it to. I tried to touch upon a delicate event in history without making it seem too gratuitous.

Again, to clarify: _Italic_ text in an unbroken format is how I separate memory from present.

* * *

The days flew by once they'd entered Mongolia. Alfred had ceased his complaints, too excited by the prospect of reaching the end of their journey. They drove past the border into China without incident, though the level of devastation between the two nations was apparent when the lush green of the forests transformed into the brittle, blackened remnants of the wildfires that had spread through China's land. Arthur could recall what it had looked like before its destruction and seeing it like this made his heart feel heavy with sorrow.

A few times, they had to stop because of blackened tree husks that had fallen onto the road. Alfred's strength came in handy during those times, with the smaller form of Ivan providing a counterbalance as they tossed those ruined trunks aside as though they were nothing more than twigs. Alfred brushed his hands vigorously together after moving one particularly large tree, informing them at a murmur. "There was radiation on that one. One of the blasts came through this area. We're lucky that we arrived after the ash cloud subsided."

Arthur could see the changes in the damage after Alfred pointed it out to him. The forest around them had burnt, yes, but it was an entirely different type of searing. Many of the trees were untouched at their bases where the blast did not reach, quite a few bent in half where the force of the shockwave had managed to snap them. If it had been fire, the limbs would have been burnt away to pathetic, coiled fragments. The branches of these trees had been twisted all in one singular direction; pointing now away from the source of the explosion in forced contortion, the barren limbs clawing at the air as if in agony.

It was an eerie sight, compounded by the silence of the forest around them. It was an absence of sound to prove that nothing lived here. Arthur wondered how many ancient species of animals had been wiped out that day when the bombs landed. They would probably never be able to tabulate the level of loss. He shuddered at the tingling energy that hung in the atmosphere, uncomfortable and itchy, though Alfred reassured them all that it was merely the radiation causing it and stressed that they had nothing to worry about since it would not kill them.

As they drove on, Arthur wondered if they were actually going to be able to find Wang Yao in all of this mess. The chaos of the destruction had removed any trace of familiar landmarks. Arthur could not even be sure that they were on a road anymore. He could not find his bearings – that was maddening to him, because Arthur had always prided himself on his innate sense of direction. This devastated place was like an alternate reality that he'd driven them into; a place where everything was topsy-turvy and an important detail like where North and South were located didn't really matter. Arthur had a sneaking suspicion that he'd gotten them lost. He decided not to mention that aloud to the others, lips pursed unhappily.

In a spot of good fortune, Ivan finally perked up in the backseat. "Do you feel that?"

Arthur had been so wrapped up in his thoughts to notice. He forced his head to clear, opening himself up to awareness, until Arthur could feel it just as distinctly as the Russian. A subtle, indefinable tug that was weaker than the strong ties of those in the vehicle with him. "I do. It must be Wang Yao." Arthur's heart began to race in his chest as he spun the wheel to turn the jeep in that direction, placing them on the invisible thread that would lead them directly to their target.

Daylight was fading as they drove on, that pull getting stronger with each mile they covered. The jeep bounced over the terrain when it became uneven, jostling them all with its force. Arthur surmised that they definitely weren't on a road. Fortunately, their vehicle was suited to off-road ventures like this. Soon enough, the ground began to level beneath them, the headlights of the jeep reflecting off trees that now looked like wraiths haunting just beyond the scope of that light. Then the trees abruptly parted in a clearing and Arthur slammed on the brakes.

They'd arrived.

The ancient temple that Wang Yao called home was barely recognizable. It had not been spared from the force of the blasts, large chunks of the sprawling estate completely demolished. A massive gate blocked their jeep from going any further forward. Arthur could tell by the fragile condition of the wood, that he could have easily driven through and knocked it all down. He simply loathed creating any more damage if it could be avoided. This place had suffered enough.

Unbuckling, they all slipped out of the jeep. Arthur left the headlights on so that they could examine the gate. He stood aside as Alfred went up to give the wood panels a shake, the American nodding. "I can get this open. If we're going inside, though, we'll need the flashlights."

"I'll get them." Matthew said quietly, heading back to the vehicle. He turned the lights of the jeep off to conserve the battery power before returning with their supply of flashlights and a package of batteries. The Canadian divided them up between each of them so that they would have extra power sources on hand.

"We should split up into teams." Arthur murmured. "I don't expect that we'll find any dangers inside the temple, but we also don't know how many hazards the structure might have. We can search on either side and aim to meet up in the central building once the perimeter has been looked over. Agreed?"

Alfred seemed nervous with the idea. He opened his mouth to agree, but Matthew overrode his comments with an abrupt declaration. "I'm going with Arthur." The Canadian shifted to stand next to the older man with a mild smile.

"Wait, what?" Alfred scowled. This place looked just like something out of the horror video games that Kiku had loaned him – the perfect cesspool for ghosts to haunt. He was going to need one of them to watch his back! "You can't just go and claim him like some kind of—"

"That sounds fine to me." Arthur said politely.

Obviously, those two were in league together. Alfred's unhappiness intensified as they teamed up. Now he was going to be left in a haunted temple with goddamned Russia! He glared down at the boy who appeared oblivious to the American's displeasure, Ivan clicking his flashlight off and on while they decided what to do. However, he couldn't just let on the fact that he was afraid to walk into the place, as Alfred drew himself up with a nonchalant shrug. "Sure, fine. Whatever. I'll take Russia and we'll head to the east. You guys get the western side."

Breaking the lock so that they could get in vented some of Alfred's frustration, just not enough to leave him completely at ease. Arthur and Matthew – clearly conspiring against him in some British-inspired thirst for retribution – left him standing alone in the company of Ivan without even offering him any reassurances or signs of sympathy. He didn't _need_ them. They were traitors – _losers_, even! Alfred turned to the boy beside him, swelling up to conceal his fear with bravado as he usually did. "Let's go look around, then. If you get scared then you can hide behind me, okay?"

Ivan rolled his eyes. The boy turned on his flashlight with a sigh, leaving the America standing in place as he headed towards the entrance of the first row of buildings. Alfred trailed after him more reluctantly as he pointed his flashlight's beam at an alcove that looked suspiciously like an open mouth. "Fear is a… a powerful force. Don't… um… don't hesitate to speak up if it becomes too much for you."

"America." Ivan said sternly. "Shut up and start looking." He turned away with another mutter, grumbling something about 'being a babysitter' under his breath.

* * *

"It's so quiet here." Matthew whispered in the silence as he rejoined Arthur in the dark corridor. They had covered many of the rooms already, finding no sign of Wang Yao or anyone else. He swung his flashlight in a slow arc around the corridor, shining off a litter of fallen roof tiles that had caved in the hallway ahead of them.

Arthur nodded as they began to retrace their path so that they could go around the blockage and find another way inside. "This was always a peaceful place. I remember coming here often after Wang had warmed up to me once we'd finally sorted all that old Opium War business. It impressed me how quiet everything was. This, though, is a different sort of quiet. An unsettling one."

Their boots crunched over the rocks that lined the path outside, Matthew glancing over towards the far cluster of buildings where the other two had gone. He smiled wryly. "How long do you think it will take before Alfred completely flips out and runs for it?"

"Frankly, I'm surprised that he hasn't done it already." Arthur answered with a knowing smirk. He waved the Canadian with him as he spotted another entry point. They stepped up into the corridor together. The blockage had taken up a chunk of the hallway, though it had been obvious from the outside view that none of the rooms had survived the collapse. Arthur didn't relish the idea of digging through all the rubble. It would be better for them to wait for Alfred's assistance if it came to the point that they needed to search the ruins. With any luck, Wang Yao would turn up somewhere else and spare them the trouble.

They separated again to investigate the rooms. Arthur was busy pushing aside broken pieces of furniture when Matthew appeared at the opened door, his flashlight shining on Arthur's figure. "Arthur! I found something. Come on."

Arthur was curious to know what exactly the Canadian had found. He hadn't said that it was Wang Yao, so clearly they still had not located their target. Still, when Arthur followed him into a room a few doors down, the Englishman was quite pleased to discover the old communications radio station. "Good work, Matthew."

He examined it carefully to check for any damage. It looked like it still worked, as Arthur switched on the generator to power the device. Several of the diodes lit up, a quiet crackling sound pouring out of it with the soft whine of the radio's frequency. "This must have been how Wang managed to communicate with Geneva. I'll continue to search – why don't you try to see if you can reach someone back in France? They must be curious to know how we have fared so far. Maybe they could even arrange to send us some help if they know our location."

"It's worth a shot." Matthew agreed. The chair nearby looked too rickety to support his weight, so the Canadian opted to remain standing. A pair of headphones dangled over the side of the table. Matthew picked them up, putting one of the earpieces to his ear, adjusting the microphone closer to his mouth as he began to work the controls. "Matthew Williams, transmitting to Geneva. Geneva, do you read me?"

There was no answer but static. He looked questioningly at Arthur, who shrugged. "Give it some time." Arthur clapped him on the shoulder before heading towards the door. "Just keep transmitting. Maybe someone will at least hear the transmission, even if we can't hear their response."

Matthew nodded, turning his attention back to the radio. Arthur could hear his voice carrying through the thin wall of the next room, as the Canadian repeated his words, first in English and then in French as an afterthought. It might have been a waste of time and energy on their part, but if there was any chance that they could communicate with friendly forces, Arthur was willing to take it.

* * *

Ivan wondered if being left with the American in this type of environment was some extension of his impending punishment. It would have been just like England to draw out his suffering in some underhanded act of revenge. The Russian boy prided himself on his placidity, taking calm stock of a situation and only acting upon anger when it became absolutely necessary. Russia was a peaceful nation. He was a quiet, practical, unaffected individual that wouldn't hurt a fly – unless it crossed him, at which point it was fair game.

Right now, though, his thoughts were occupied with visions of red, bloody murder. Because out of every nation that he'd after had to deal with in his long, extensive history, America was the only one that could get under his skin in no time at all. He had been trying to search as thoroughly as possible. However, he couldn't even commit to a proper investigation of a room without Alfred jumping at shadows right behind him, the American yelping in alarm every few minutes as some unknown phenomenon made him frightened. Eventually, he ordered the taller nation to wait out in the corridor. Ivan would rather conduct all the work on his own if it allowed him to avoid having Alfred shout in his ear at every play of their lights across the damaged ruins.

It didn't work. Ivan would become absorbed in the search, fine tuning his senses to focus upon listening for any sign of life, or to see any evidence of their missing nation's presence. Then America would run up behind him and scream. That in turn would make Ivan jump and scream, which was a rather embarrassing habit that he made a mental note that he needed to correct for the future. Finally, Ivan whirled around and smacked Alfred on the shoulder with his flashlight when it became too much for him. "America, enough! If you are going to be this impossible then go wait _outside_!"

"I can't go out there. It's going to be all silent, and creepy, and just as scary all alone out there than it is to be in here stumbling with you." Alfred whined in protest. "This stuff is so… I can't handle this kind of shit, man. You have no idea how many…" He swung his flashlight's beam swiftly aside as though he'd heard a noise, in full paranoid mode, "how many video games there are that look just like this. It's all Japan's fault, with his messed up ghost stuff."

"Perhaps I should do you the favor of gouging your eyes out so that you will not watch silly things that lead you to be so easily frightened?" Ivan asked innocently, though it was laced with the poison of his irritation. His hand went to his belt so that he could drum his fingers upon the hilt of his knife.

The American was oblivious to the threat. Alfred went into the hallway with cautious steps, his flashlight swishing wildly around to check that it was clear of any spooks. Ghosts here walked around with their hair in their faces, with blackened mouths and hollow eyes. And they always stood silently waiting for someone like Alfred to come walking along, minding their own business, before they would jump out of the shadows with their weird moaning noises. He was onto their tricks!

They were just coming up on the end of the corridor. A broad, double-sided door sat in front of them. Ivan's steps became slower and slower as he approached it. He stopped a distance away from it, flashlight pointed at the sliding panels as what little color was in his face drained with a sudden thinning of his lips. Alfred began to walk past him, unaware of the Russian's hesitation, though Ivan quickly stopped him by seizing the American's arm. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Alfred asked him curiously, looking from Ivan to the door. Then his nostrils flared with the same smell that had reached Ivan just moments prior. Alfred choked and clamped his fingers down on his nose. "Christ! What the hell is that _stench_?"

"You should wait here, America. I will go check it out."

"Oh, hell no! I'm not hanging around here alone. We can check it out together." Alfred said firmly, voice nasal from pinching his nose shut. When Ivan seemed ready to argue, the American walked quickly forward to the double doors. He tried to pull on the handle, but the door wouldn't budge. Alfred blinked down at it, then to Ivan as the boy came to stand next to him. "It seems to be stuck. Let me try again."

Alfred took hold of the left door with both hands. His muscles bunched, because the effort was a little more than he thought it would be. Something obviously was obstructing the door to keep it from opening. Maybe Wang Yao was hiding out on the other side? Alfred let out his breath, quickly pulled in another one through his mouth, and yanked forcefully on the door so that it slid open with a crack of the wood.

That masked scent suddenly washed over them. Even Ivan recoiled from it with gritted teeth and an effort not to vomit. Alfred was unsteady from the assault to his senses, the smell almost intense enough to knock him unconscious. He staggered to the side of the door and his shoulder smacked heavily against the wall. Dropping down to sit in that spot as he nearly threw up the canned peas he'd eaten that afternoon, Alfred pressed a hand across the lower half of his face in a desperate attempt to shield himself from the smell.

Something fell against his outstretched foot. Alfred could feel the weight of it resting against his ankle. The American shuddered all over. He numbly lifted his flashlight up, clicking the light on to see what was touching him. Alfred gasped in horror as he kicked at the blackened hand that had rolled to land on his leg, scrambling clumsily backward as if the wall could possibly give him more room to retreat. The beam of his flashlight streamed in wild arcs of light, briefly lighting the tangled mess of blackened limbs, ruined torsos, shrunken faces of corpses that had spilled out from the other side of the doors.

"R-Russia?" He barely breathed the nation's name out, overcome with his terror.

"I'm here." Ivan sounded calmer. While Alfred tried to push himself through the wall, the Russian boy stepped towards the bodies. He knelt down beside the pile, his flashlight pointing briefly at each individual, unidentifiable face. After a few minutes of studying them in silence, Ivan whispered. "Most of these look like they died from the radiation poisoning." His small hand stretched out, gloved fingers probing one of the unmoving faces. "Da. The signs are there. Though judging by the burns that they sustained, it was a fire that killed them."

"Obviously the temple caught fire. You can see that much just by looking around us." Alfred said quietly. He'd gotten over his shock, switching over onto a numb autopilot like he did whenever faced with an unpleasant task of this level. The American stood up and approached the bodies with a grimace. That stagnant air inside the room had flooded out by now, so that it had thinned enough to be tolerable. Alfred pressed his sleeve over his nose as he shone his flashlight over the bodies. "You'd think that they would have escaped."

Ivan let his hand drop to his side, hanging limp. "That might not have been their intentions. It looks like they had no desire to escape the blaze."

"Do you… think they started the fire deliberately?"

"That is my best guess." Ivan searched deeper into the room with his flashlight as he rose back up to his feet. "They secured the door from the inside. If they wished to get out, they could have done so at any time."

"Or they wanted to get out and simply couldn't." Alfred suggested. "Why else would they all be against the door like this, unless they had wanted to escape?"

Ivan shrugged his shoulders. "All that we can do is speculate. We will have to ask China when we find him."

"Should we… look for him in here?" Alfred did not look forward to having to climb over a pile of bodies to get inside the room. There was no other choice, though. He hoped that Ivan would simply decide against the notion.

"We should. He might have been trapped in here when the fire started. I will go in, since I am lighter and will not hurt the bodies. You wait out here while I look around – and no arguments this time." Ivan answered, dashing Alfred's hopes. The boy handed the American his flashlight. Then Ivan went forward and began to pick his way delicately over the mass of burnt flesh. He jumped down on the other side, holding his hands out so that Alfred could toss his flashlight over the mess.

Alfred was sitting against the wall when Ivan finally climbed back over the bodies, shaking his head. "There was no sign of China. I did discover a few interesting things inside the room, though."

"Like what?"

Ivan smacked his flashlight thoughtfully on his opened palm as he answered. "The remnants of statues. It would appear that it was a place of worship."

"A church?" Alfred scowled, bewildered by Ivan's assessment.

"Da. It is also the source of where the fire started. I found the charred wood piles that they had used to set the place ablaze."

"That… that doesn't make any sense!" Alfred said hotly. "Why would they go into their church and then set everything on fire?"

Ivan gave him a chiding look. He pointed out what should have been obvious to the American. "They were dying. None of them would have survived the level of radiation. Sometimes, with no other option, people may decide for themselves how they want their end to come. It seems that they wanted to go out in flames rather than wait for their bodies to finish falling apart."

"But… why even come to this temple at all, then? If they knew that they were going to die, why did they bother to make the trip to die here instead of at their homes?"

"Perhaps they thought these walls would protect them from destruction." Ivan murmured quietly. "Spiritualism is a powerful driving force. They must have put their faith in something that decided not to intervene on their behalf."

"What, like… God?" Alfred blinked at the Russian's tone of voice. Ivan sounded vaguely disgusted, while also sad.

Ivan swung his flashlight up so that it beamed directly into the American's eyes, Alfred being blinded by the brightness of that light. "America. Do you really believe in God?"

The question jarred him. Alfred lowered the hand that he had put up reflexively in front of him to block Ivan's light, emotions fading from his face as he stared blankly down at the mound of bodies. A memory struck him with powerful force. Alfred gazed down at the bodies and remembered…

_The air that morning had been heavy from the cold. Frost blanketed the grass just outside of the fence, though the sun was already trying to burn it all away. Alfred wondered if it were going to snow soon. He had asked Russia just last night and the man had told him that it didn't feel like it was going to snow. Since Ivan was the better expert on matters concerning snow, ice and all things cold, Alfred took him at his word._

_Alfred watched as the Russian troops moved around the interior of the complex, feeling restless with nothing important to do. He and his men had been delegated with the task of guarding the perimeter. It seemed like a waste of time when there were no more hostile Germans to attack them – yet Alfred knew that "General Kirkland" had given implicit instructions on how things were supposed to go today and had been emphatic about Alfred not being allowed inside the camp. Arthur was due to arrive at the camp at any time. He'd have to have a word with the older man about not utilizing his talents better._

_He paced along the length of the fence in front of the opened gate that they had cut open that morning, the metal chains swaying limply where they had been left to hang forgotten. Alfred could see Ivan moving hurriedly amongst his troops, giving orders to them in that foreign tongue that sounded rough to the American's ears. When Ivan got within earshot, Alfred stepped hurriedly on his side of the fence as he spoke to the Russian. "Hey, Ivan. It's kinda boring out here, man. Are you sure that you don't need my help in there? My men can handle this without me."_

_Ivan slowed to a stop on the other side of the chain-link. His head turned so that he could give the American a sober stare. "No. There is nothing here that you need to see. Besides – the General from __Britain__ would be very angry with me, General Jones. You must wait out here."_

_Alfred's bright smile was forced to remain in place despite the fact that the Russian was addressing him in the same manner that one might speak to a child. He'd never been a fan of Ivan's, and he was pretty sure that the feeling was mutual, but Alfred needed to try his best to win the Russian Commander over if he was going to get what he wanted. "Come on. Please? I'll stay out of the way. I won't even go into any of the buildings, if that's the issue. But your men are tired and by the looks of it there is going to be a lot of heavy lifting around here that needs to be done." He pointed to a pair of Russian soldiers who were laboring to carry some artillery across the interior yard._

_Ivan considered his troops with a thoughtful expression. They _were_ tired. Every single one of them was tired. They'd just won a war that had been terrible to fight, full of horrors that would stay with them for a lifetime. Ivan softened a little as he decided that giving them some assistance would be a kindness for these soldiers. "Very well, General Jones. I will be holding you to your words, though. You are not to go anywhere near the buildings, do you understand? And you will stay on this side of the camp – I do not want you anywhere near the rear of the complex. General Kirkland will be arriving soon and I would prefer that he does not see you breaking his orders."_

"_Okay, yes, I promise!" Alfred silently congratulated himself on his little victory. He hurried back to the gate so that Ivan would have no time to change his mind. The American looked around the yard as the men kept dismantling the camp. Ivan had already disappeared, obviously returning to his tasks – as secretive as they were. Alfred did wonder what exactly Ivan was up to – and why Arthur had left such strict orders. These old men probably thought that he was incapable of handling important tasks._

_Well, he'd show them just how useful he could be._

_Alfred jogged across the yard to the Russian soldiers that were struggling with the heavy artillery. He fit himself between them, arms going underneath the machine gun's base in order to take the brunt of the weight. Of course, he couldn't simply heft it up onto his shoulder, since showing his real strength might have freaked the men out. Alfred did, however, take plenty of the weight off their bodies. "Where are we going with this, guys?"_

_The soldiers were surprised by his effort to assist them. They exchanged confused looks at his question. Neither apparently spoke English. Great. Alfred tried another means to communicate, pointing his hand questioningly around the complex and then patting the top of the artillery with a hand. "Where?"_

_They pointed to a nearby truck that was parked nearby. Alfred flashed them an upraised thumb to show that he understood, before working with them to lift the artillery up. He kept at their pace, though his body stayed on the verge of simply taking over the task on its own. Alfred had to be patient and careful. He even made a show of looking pained, grunting in echo of them as they loaded it up into the back of the vehicle. When they clutched their backs, so did he, nodding sympathetically to their pain as if he actually shared it with them. Once the soldiers had recovered, they patted him gratefully and went to gather more things from inside._

_Alfred stroked his chin as he watched them go. Technically, Ivan had said that he was allowed to help them. What if they needed to pick up some very __heavy things__ from inside the place? It wouldn't have been very helpful if he waited until they'd done all the hard work. A real hero didn't always need to wait until the last minute to save the day – which Alfred was very good at. Sometimes they started their heroic act at the very beginning and saw it through until the end._

_His chest puffed up proudly in self-awe at his profound thoughts on heroism. One day, he was going to have to write all that stuff down. It would probably be a bestseller! Alfred was musing over his future in literature as he strolled casually after the Russian troops. Maybe he'd give Arthur a free, signed copy? Nah. That bastard would have to buy it just like everyone else. Plus, his inner monologue on the merits of heroism gave him a good excuse to satisfy his curiosity._

_Stepping into the first building, Alfred saw that it was abuzz with activity. The troops were going through everything; they searched through desks and filing cabinets, gathering everything that might have been important or perhaps granted them some intelligence as to the next stage of the war. After all – Japan was still undefeated. There was still a war going on. It was just no longer here in the midst of Europe, but would happen in an epic showdown on the Pacific. Alfred wasn't worried about it. Now that Germany had been dealt with, Europe was safe and could rebuild. It would allow Alfred his chance to shine all on his own, and show the Europeans once and for all just what kind of power he was capable of._

_He stepped out of the way as some Russians carried some boxes out. By the looks of things, nothing in here would be heavy enough to require his services. Alfred saw no sign of Ivan still. The other nation must have been working in one of the other buildings. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket, Alfred snuck outside and headed towards another place. Sure, he was breaking his word to Russia – and he felt sort of bad about that, truly – but his curiosity was just too strong. Alfred wanted to know what the big secret was that everyone had been working like mad to hide from him._

_The other Allied Powers had not informed him much about the camps. He'd overheard them discussing them a few times during their meetings, though Arthur always abruptly ended the conversation as soon as he realized that Alfred was around. It wasn't like he didn't understand how these places worked. Alfred knew that the officials back home had rounded up most of the Japanese-American citizens in similar camps – of course, they had not let him visit those either. _

_He imagined that they were like prisons; cramped, unpleasant institutions where everyone sat in little cells and lamented their troubles through the walls. Alfred certainly had not given the order. He'd even been very clear to Roosevelt over the telephone regarding how unhappy he was with the situation. His government officials had told him that it was for the safety of his people – a necessary evil to prevent them from coming under attack from within. Alfred had already been out of the country when they had begun the operation. In fact, he'd been in the air and on his way to Europe the night when Japan had attacked his homeland._

_It was something that he would fix when he got home. That was for sure. Heroes didn't stand idly by while people suffered as a result of another people's fear. It all struck him as very un-American. And anything un-American just wasn't kosher._

_Alfred went around the corner. He saw a large cluster of Russian troops standing on the edge of a hole in the ground. Before he could register what it was that they were pulling out of it, the sun came out of the clouds just in time to blind him with an errant burst of light. Alfred squinted against it with a flinch, his glasses reflecting the glare until he put his hand up in front of his face to obscure it. By the time he'd cleared the sunspots out of his eyes, the American had already reached the troops, addressing them pleasantly. "Hey guys! General Jones here. You need any help with—"_

_His arm lowered slowly, the words drying up on his tongue as Alfred finally saw what cargo they were handling. His cheerful demeanor had shattered as the young nation stood gazing down on a pit full of bodies. They were all emaciated, a few of them naked to the elements so that their ribcages were prominently displayed on the bared chests of both men and women. Not that there were just adults. A few children of varying ages were nestled amongst the stiff corpses. Quite a number of them had died by violence; gunshot wounds, evidence of torture, blunt trauma from other weapons littered many of their figures. All of them were deathly pale, like ghosts that had taken form in tangible bodies._

_Alfred's head slowly shook back and forth, his jaw slack as he watched the Russian troops pick up another corpse, stepping up the rungs of ladders that had been laid into the pit to make their ascent easier. A hand touched him on the arm, the American practically jumping out of his skin. It was one of Ivan's troops. The Russian man stepped back at the violent response from Alfred, relaxing when he saw that the American was not going to strike out at him. His chin jutted towards the pit, and when he spoke to Alfred it was actually in English. "It is surprising, don't you think, that they do not give off a smell?"_

_When Alfred did not give him any response except to stare at him blankly, the man continued. "The cold is what does it. They are too frozen, to stiff to even begin to decompose." He took out a pack of cigarettes, fitting one into his mouth. The Russian cupped his palm around the flame of his lighter as he lit it. Alfred saw the glow of the tip shine red-orange as the man inhaled the tobacco deep into his lungs. He exhaled a cloud of smoke as he plucked the cigarette out between two fingers, gesturing towards the pit. _

"_Those sick German bastards knew what they were doing here. They studied it; experimenting enough to understand what temperatures would stop the stench of bodies from spreading. Those earlier camps of theirs had learnt – some of them became inhabitable when the smell of the bodies got too bad. That is why they moved them to this climate. It is not quite as frozen here as Russia, but it is very close." The Russian shook his head in disgust._

"_This…happened in more locations?" Alfred finally got his tongue to work. It had felt too swollen in his mouth to speak before that moment._

_Tilting his head, the Russian soldier gave him an incredulously look. "You had not heard about this? We were under the impression that you Americans were aware of the situation." He stuck his cigarette back in his mouth, hands gesturing rapidly in all directions as he spoke around the smoke. "Auschwitz-Bierkenau, __Belzec, Treblinka,_ _Warsaw_ – _and here, Chelmo, of course. Just to name a few. This was just one of the other 'extermination' camps – their concentration camps were not much better." Alfred had slid his bomber jacket off while the man spoke. He pressed it into the Russian soldier's hands, the man looking at him curiously. "What are you doing?"_

"_I have to… I have to help them. These people…I have to help them." Alfred was murmuring out in a rush. He stepped to the edge of the pit, crouching down so that he could climb over the edge._

_The Russian was looking at him in confusion, cigarette dangling in his mouth as he clutched the American's jacket. "Are you crazy? You can't help them. They're already dead."_

_Alfred shook his head firmly. No, no he wouldn't accept that. It was unthinkable – unthinkable! Such an atrocity was not possible. Things like this didn't happen in the world that he was part of. Alfred's fingers were trying to dig into the side of the pit as he slid down the side of it, not bothering with the ladders that the troops were using. It was too frozen for him to find a solid grip. He slipped a few feet down, boots skidding in the dirt as Alfred slid down to the bottom._

_There was a small, dark-haired boy lying nearby. His eyes were open and glassy, face peaceful. Alfred went to him first and lifted him up from the cold ground. His fingers touched carefully to the kid's eyelids, sliding them shut over those sightless brown eyes. The boy appeared to be asleep now, somewhere far off and dreaming. Alfred ignored the looks of the stunned Russian troops working around him. When one of them held out his hands to carry the body up the ladder, Alfred firmly shook his head. "No, I… I've got him. It's okay."_

_The man persisted until Alfred gave up. "Fine! Take him then, but be careful. You don't want to drop him." He gave the boy over to the Russian with an absent hum. When the man had gone up the ladder with the small bundle, Alfred turned back to the others. There was a woman nearby that would have been stunning if he had seen her in other circumstances. Her hair was chestnut brown, spreading in a fan of color where she lay on the ground. The bullet wound in her forehead made it difficult for Alfred to tell for sure, but she definitely could have had a future on motion pictures with a face like that. He cradled her against his chest as if she were a bride, whispering down to her. "Hey, pretty lady. Hollywood would have_ loved _you, you know? They would have thrown diamonds at your feet_ – diamonds, _for goodness sake_."

_Alfred felt numb all over. His glasses had gotten so blurry_. It's going to be impossible to work like this, _he thought as he handed her up to another soldier. Taking his glasses off, Alfred folded them up and tucked them securely into the pocket of his uniform. He patted them lovingly as he mused on the feeling of the wetness on his cheeks and the taste of salt in his mouth. Alfred wiped his face off with his sleeve. It surprised him when it came away all wet. That was just a distant feeling as unreal to him as everything else right now in this moment._

_Someone was talking to him. No, he didn't want to get out. He was busy. Surely they could see that? Alfred waved them off with a shrug and turned his back on that voice that seemed familiar. He bent to pick up another man, taking hold of him by his arm. What Alfred did not see right away was that that arm was only hanging on by a few inches of muscle tissue. His upward tug merely severed it the rest of the way off so that Alfred lost his balance and sat down hard on the ground with a surprised grunt. He stared confusedly at the arm in his grip._

_Well. That was pretty gross._

_He heard the sound of his name again. Alfred tossed the arm aside with a distracted frown. What the hell were they bothering him for? He was handling this just fine on his own – fragile limbs aside, though that hadn't been his fault. No, no, he didn't need anyone's help. They could just go fuck themselves, thank you very much._

_Hands pulled at him. Alfred felt the front of his uniform seized. He blinked at the man who'd grabbed him without comprehension. Who was this blond guy in his tidy green uniform with the pretty eyes and huge eyebrows that was shouting into his face? Alfred's brain was still stuck on the image of a glassy brown stare and a chestnut flare of hair and row upon row of white corpses._

_Then a hand came across his right cheek in a hard slap that shook his entire body. Alfred brought his hand up to clutch the stinging skin, pretty sure that his jaw might have been broken if it had been just a little harder. He tuned in with an angry scowl, glaring at his attacker. "What the hell was that for?"_

"_You weren't… you weren't hearing me. I didn't know what else to do." Arthur told him breathlessly. He seemed relieved to finally get a response out of the American, one hand still clutching the front of Alfred's uniform. "You need to come out of here. Please?"_

"_I was just trying to help them." Alfred said simply._

_Arthur was sympathetic. His eyes a darker shade of jade with all the melancholy inside them, as the Englishman turned to slide an arm around Alfred's back to lead him to the nearby ladder. "I know that you were. You did very well, Alfred. Very well. But now we need to let the men do their work, all right? Come on inside with me and we can talk a little more about it."_

_Alfred ascended the ladder clumsily. Ivan was standing there on the edge. He had taken the American's jacket from his soldier, holding it now as he watched Alfred climb out of the pit. The American took his coat from the Russian, eyes touching to Ivan's violet ones as he repeated himself. "I was just trying to help them…"_

"_Da." Ivan said with a passive nod. The Russian was exchanging knowing looks with Arthur, the two of them clued into something that currently escaped Alfred's understanding._

_Arthur's arm went around him again after Alfred had put his jacket back on. It was warm, alive, and nothing at all like the arms he had felt down inside that pit. Arthur guided him with firm pressure towards one of the opened doors of a nearby building. Ivan was following behind them, murmuring a few orders in Russian towards his troops. As they stepped up into the building together, Alfred was shaking his head again, whispering breathlessly. "God. My _God_. Oh, my God."_

_He was made to sit at a table, staring at the wood. Alfred looked up as Ivan put a shot glass firmly down in front of him, the Russian pouring it full of vodka as he asked Alfred, quietly. "America. After seeing that out there, do you really still believe in God?"_

"_Ivan…" Arthur scolded the other man both for the question and the use of Alfred's national name, agitated as he paced around the room._

_Alfred had been staring at the vodka in the glass. When his eyes lifted up to lock with Russia's, he solemnly shook his head. "Today…" He paused to wet his lips, downing the shot and feeling it burn its way down his throat before he could finish, "…today, I don't think I do."_

A hand was shaking him roughly on the shoulder. Alfred blinked out of the memories that had overwhelmed his mind. He expected to see Ivan standing there trying to snap him out of it. Alfred was surprised to see that it was Arthur instead. The Englishman was staring closely at his face, concerned. Alfred's smile was faint, slightly apologetic that he'd caused the other man to worry. "S-sorry. I guess I tuned out there for a couple minutes. Where's Ivan?"

"He's outside with Matthew. Ivan said that he couldn't get you to budge, so he was alarmed when he came and fetched us." Arthur was settled on his knees beside Alfred, the hand that had been on the American's shoulder sliding affectionately through his hair instead. "Are you all right? Ivan had warned me about… about your discovery."

"Pretty messed up, isn't it? You should have been here when the smell was worse." Alfred said lightly. "But yeah, sure, I'm just fine. Why do you ask?"

Arthur touched his fingertips to the American's cheek, the light of his flashlight showing the wetness that made them slick as he displayed the evidence of Alfred's tears to him. Alfred let out a shaken breath before his arms came up and wrapped the Englishman up inside them, clutching him close. He dug his fingers in against Arthur's back, as the older man softened and allowed the embrace, his own hand curling around to tuck Alfred's head in against his shoulder. Alfred whispered. "Do you ever… do you ever wish that you could have done more? That maybe if you were a little stronger, a little smarter, you could maybe save everyone for a change?"

"All the time." Arthur told him gently. "I never learnt how to do it, though. Now I am too old and too set in my ways to think of a flexible solution. You could probably do it, America. Figure out a way – if anyone can capably pull off such a miracle, it would be you. I believe that."

"Really?" Alfred sniffled as he pulled his head back to peer up at Arthur.

"Really." Arthur confirmed with a wan smile. "I believe in you. So what do you say we storm the central temple now and rescue our old friend China?"

Alfred wiped his cheeks clear. When he was composed the rest of the way, he nodded to Arthur. "That sounds like a damn good idea. Let's go."

* * *

"_Sir! We retrieved a transmission from within China_." One the soldiers came up to his side of the jeep, saluting.

The Commander took the piece of paper from him with a frown. China was a nuclear wasteland the last that he'd heard. How could anyone possibly broadcasting from inside the location? He read over the words that had been written down from the radio transmissions. The word Geneva kept coming up – they were apparently trying to communicate with France. That was even more puzzling. Why would foreigners not of apparent French nationality care to have dealings with that other country?

Regardless, he was certain now of his earlier belief: These men had come to spy on their operations. They were probably going to report that there was still land available. Other nations would seek to try and overthrow them now that they would know how fragile the Russian people had become. He grit his teeth together as he crushed the paper in his fist. Damn them!

"_What are your orders, Sir_?"

"_My order is that we wait. There is only one way in and out of China now. We will set up a perimeter at the exit and engage them when they return back over the border_." He said firmly. The Commander glared at the soldier. "_What are you waiting for? Tell them now_!"

Now they knew where those foreigners had gone. And he knew where they would be coming from. There was nowhere else for them to go. It was only a matter of time before he would have them in his sights again.

* * *

A/N: The names of the camps mentioned were actual ones that operated during WW2. There were different camps with different purposes: "Concentration Camps" were intended to contain prisoners - not that they were really any better. "Extermination Camps" were the places where Jews and other 'imperfect people' would be sent to be slaughtered from all over Europe.

Several of the "extermination camps" were located in Poland. (Poor Poland!) Oddly enough, there were no "extermination camps" located in Germany at all. At least none that were defined for that purpose. Germany was mainly "labor camps" or "transition camps". After France was conquered, it became host to a few camps as well - one of which started out for labor purposes and became an "extermination camp" over time. (Poor France!)


	14. Chapter 14

This took longer than I had wanted it to. I re-wrote it so many times, and I am still not one hundred percent convinced that I got it right. However, since my schedule will soon become swamped, I wanted to make sure that this installment came out before it got lost in the swamp of other tasks.

Do you know what I hate? Cliffhangers. I apologize in advance.

* * *

When they arrived at the main entry point for the interior temple of the complex, they were met with an unexpected obstacle. Where there should have been a door for them to enter, there was a massive panel of wood that had been slid securely into place to block anyone from being able to get inside. Alfred sighed in annoyance. "It's good to know that Wang Yao wanted to make his rescue so easy. I haven't had this much trouble getting through a place before."

"I've encountered worse." Arthur said mildly as he inspected the wooden panel. "We'll have to get through it somehow. Can you get it open, Alfred?"

"I'll try." Alfred stepped ahead of them, bracing his hands on the wood at a point where a thin line ran down the middle of the structure. He bunched his muscles up and gave it a good push, with no luck. Frowning at it, Alfred tried it again, mustering more force. It refused to budge. He stepped back from it while shaking his head. "I don't think it's going to work. This thing must be at least a foot thick."

Arthur drifted forward a step, bending slightly as he touched the wood with his hands. He felt along the exterior of the panel with a frown, his fingers dancing over the surface of the decorated wood. Matthew held a flashlight for him so that the Englishman could see what he was doing, even while Alfred was shaking his head once again at the futility of the situation. "Arthur, man – it's won't work. I almost burst a blood vessel trying to get it open; more than likely, the entire thing has been barricaded shut from the inside."

Looking up from his search with irritation, Arthur tossed a shadowed glare at Alfred. "Belt it. While you might find it hard to believe, I have a little experience getting into places like this. Pay attention for a change and you might learn something."

His fingers skimmed along the engraved surface of the wood. While it was seamless to the naked eye, Arthur knew that appearances could often be deceiving. He spoke to them distractedly as he inspected the carvings an inch at a time. "There were many fortresses that used this sort of structure as an extra line of defense against invasion. Most of it is reinforced so that a battering ram would be ineffective as a means to destroy it – quite often, there is metal plating beneath the wood. If the inhabitants of a fortress believed that the size of the force attacking them would be too great for normal defenses, they dropped a panel like this down as a secondary shield."

Arthur shuffled his feet over the ground as he explored further over on the panel, the beam of light moving with him as he continued his explanation. "The problem, they discovered, was that if they had military units outside of the fortress during the onslaught, sliding the panel down would cripple their numbers since their exterior soldiers could not return into the fortress in order to bolster them if needed. Their solution was to cut a door into the panel, that would only unlatch if a specific spot was pushed."

Soon afterwards, Arthur curled his fingers over a particular design. He blinked quickly as it sank slightly under the pressure of his touch. Shoving it forward, they could hear the loud creak of metal dragging, before a large section of the wooden panel cracked open. Arthur tentatively pushed it so that it opened completely. With a noise of satisfaction, he brushed his hands together. "That did it. Shall we go in?"

Ivan went in first, straining cautiously around the ridges of the door to check that there weren't any hazards for them to encounter. The boy waved them in after determining that it was safe. He switched his flashlight off as they entered, speaking quietly. "The torches here are lit. Someone must be alive here to have done so. I would say that we are getting close."

Arthur saw that the Russian was correct. Torches that had been lit dotted the interior; judging by the harsh chemical smell, they had been dipped decently with accelerant to keep them fueled and burning. His eyes made a quick sweep of the area before Arthur glanced to the others. "We should divide up again. This part of the temple is nowhere near as large as the outer section, so I expect that the search will go much faster." He took hold of Alfred's sleeve after his proposal, murmuring wryly. "I'll keep an eye on this one. We'll rendezvous back here in ten minutes if there is no sign of Wang Yao."

They separated on the way to their assigned locations. Alfred's fear concerning the atmosphere of the place had ebbed a little, so that he was not constantly jumping at shadows. He had invested most of his emotional energy enough that his fear could not muster the force needed to propel him into the former state of panic he'd had with Russia. Not that the American felt entirely prepared to shake all of his fear of the place.

Being in Arthur's company now rather than Ivan's, he did not mind looking a little foolish by quickly locking a hold on the Englishman's sleeve. It had comforted him back when he was a child and now – centuries later – clutching the other man still soothed the edge of his fright. Alfred was tempted to take it further by just taking hold of Arthur's hand though he knew that it would have gotten him a mean look and a firm swat.

"This bothers me." Arthur whispered.

Alfred grew awkward, cheeks coloring as he let go of Arthur's sleeve. "Sorry. I didn't mean to cling."

"No, not…" He flashed the American an irked frown, "not you, twit. I was referring to the situation at hand. Someone obviously triggered that panel outside. Someone lit the torches in the hallway. What nags at me is the fact that I cannot be sure if it were Wang Yao that did so."

"Why do you think it wouldn't be him?"

"If Wang Yao were capable of doing these things then what has prevented him from leaving here to come to Geneva?" Arthur asked, mostly to himself since he did not expect any astute observations from his companion. "Wang Yao is mature, wise and very capable. I don't see what could have kept him from leaving here if he had the mind to do so. Or why he would have called for help on the wireless."

Alfred mulled over the concerns that Arthur had expressed. "Do you think it's a trap?"

"I can't say that I know _what_ it is." Arthur admitted as they walked together into another corridor. "All that I can be certain of is that I have been feeling ill at ease since the moment we arrived – and not just due to the obvious destruction and death that surrounds us." Looking around, Arthur's face slid into a dire expression. "If this is some sort of trap, and Wang Yao lured us here for some nefarious purpose, I shall personally beat seven shades of shit out of him."

Neither man doubted the authenticity of that threat. As their trek continued, Arthur grew increasingly distracted. Alfred was familiar with the behavior – it meant that the Englishman was looking at things that he himself could not see. Whether these were all imaginary, or hallucinatory on the part of Arthur, whenever the older man came out of his daze of one-sided conversation it was usually with pertinent, accurate information.

Arthur stopped Alfred from advancing further. He was staring at a point in the air above their heads with a frown. "What?"

Despite knowing that it was probably in their best interests to let Arthur have with his conversation with an invisible entity, Alfred still felt really stupid standing there while the Englishman appeared to talk to himself. He averted his gaze away from what seemed like nothing more than a demonstration of insanity as Arthur listened, frowned, and spoke again to the empty air. "You're very sure?"

He paused to hear a response, appearing chided. "No, of course I don't doubt you. If that's what you say that you've seen, then I believe your claim. I just can't imagine that such a creature would be here."

Arthur shifted his attention away from the interchange to whisper to Alfred. "We must proceed with caution. They informed me that a fearsome beast resides in this temple."

"Did they say what kind of beast it was?" Alfred was too interested in the news to remember that it had come from sources that he didn't even believe in.

"They didn't. None of them feel brave enough to approach it in order to find out. Though that does explain my uneasiness; if there is a creature like that here, I must have been sensing its proximity." Arthur said quietly.

Alfred let a sigh escape as he approached the next set of doors. "Well, that's just peachy. Out of everything else we've had to deal with here, now we have to worry about some kind of monster? At least we're in luck: Videogames have given me extensive training in how to slay monsters of all assortments." He was feeling unhappy with hearing Arthur's warning, so it didn't occur to him that he should have put more thought into what he was doing. There was resistance from the locked doors that Alfred attempted to open. The American caused them to break as he forced his way in.

Arthur had become engrossed in his supernatural conference again, so he did not see what Alfred was doing in time to voice further warning to the American. When he heard the sound of the lock breaking, Arthur spun around in time to see Alfred pushing both sides of the doors opened, a hand urgently outstretching his direction. "Don't open that door, you fool!"

Oblivious, Alfred raised an eyebrow as he heard Arthur call out to him. "Hm?"

Then his attention was lured back in front of where he stood as the American heard a loud, inhuman growl that came from a few feet away from his head. Alfred went very still at that noise, his head turning in slow motion as widened blue eyes landed on the source of that sound.

Someway, somehow, Alfred had been sucked into Arthur's world of weirdness. Because what he was seeing did not exist and should not have been breathing hot waves of air over the entire length of his body. Those sharp white rows of teeth should not have been looming nearby with a menacing shimmer to their ivory lengths. Steam could not have been coiling out of nostrils the size of Alfred's head. A huge red eye was not supposed to be staring threateningly down at his face.

There was absolutely no way in any part of Alfred's real, factual, scientific world of logic that there should be a goddamned dragon right there in his face.

The absolutely not-possible dragon growled again. Alfred stammered as a result. His brain went from shock, to denial, to total complete meltdown. Eyes rolling up in his head, the American sacrificed all sense of heroic composure, as he found himself unable to do anything else besides faint right then and there.

* * *

"I think he's coming around." Arthur's voice was distorted by the haziness of awareness as Alfred slowly came back to life.

When the American's eyes fluttered open, he found himself blinking up at the blurred face that his mind registered as Arthur's. Arthur was close, the Englishman kneeling beside him as he searched Alfred's face for signs of recognition. He became relieved when the American groaned in pain, one of Alfred's hands reaching up to gingerly touch the back of his head. "Ow…"

Arthur twisted in place to speak to someone over his shoulder. "He's finally awake."

Alfred winced at the pain in his head. He didn't feel any traces of blood on the back of his skull, so he must not have hit it hard enough to split his scalp. The American's pain was dismissed as he scrambled desperately to take hold of Arthur, as Alfred suddenly remembered why he had fallen to the floor in the first place. "Arthur – the dragon! Did you see it?"

"It's all right, Alfred. Never mind the dragon. How is your head feeling? You smacked it with rather frightful force when you fell." Arthur asked him in a calm voice that didn't sound anything like there was a menacing dragon lurking around nearby. Had Alfred imagined it?

"I feel pretty dizzy. And of course it hurts. I think that I'll be all right, though." Alfred informed him as he forced himself to sit up. The room around him was swimming unsteadily, the American's eyes unable to focus at all.

He heard a steady thump start to approach, leaning into the support of the arm that Arthur braced his back with. The Englishman was still focused elsewhere on the person closing in on them. Alfred grunted as a foreign hand unexpectedly peeled up his eyelids one at a time. Then he heard another voice speak, recognizing it instantly. "He doesn't have a concussion, aru. Though it's hard to tell with his eyes still healing."

"China?" Alfred pulled his head back away from the older man's probing fingers so that he could peer at the very man that they had come all the way here to find.

Wang Yao was pale, though he greeted Alfred with a faint, warm smile. His body was leaning heavily to the right as he stood beside Arthur's kneeling form. "Hello to you, America. England was kind enough to share with me the stories of your journey to get here – apparently I have you to thank for deciding to attempt my rescue, aru. I am very sorry that my superior scared you so badly. He is not used to visitors."

The American followed the line of the hand that Wang Yao gestured aside with. Once again, he saw the massive dragon. The creature was in a corner of the room, its massive serpentine body coiled up. Talons clicked on the wooden boards of the floor as the dragon's long snout turned imperiously to the side at Wang Yao's apology, a voice rumbling out of the creature in a deep, inhuman bass. "I was well within my rights to greet him as I did. He broke into the chamber without even bothering to knock – how was I to know that he wasn't some sort of hostile intruder?"

"Your boss… is a dragon?" Alfred's voice was timid.

"Yes indeed." Wang Yao nodded hurriedly, his smile growing. "While we have a human representative to act as our public face, my true superior has always been this creature." He used that same hand to indicate the dragon again.

Wang Yao utilizing that hand again clued Alfred in on a very obvious detail that he had been missing in his dazed condition. He focused his eyes more deliberately on the Asian man's body and how it was twisted so strangely. It was leaning like that because Wang Yao was resting heavily against the support of a wooden crutch to keep himself upright. Alfred's eyes swept up, then down, as he understood _why_.

The man's lean, petite figure was missing some limbs on the right side. Wang Yao's arm was missing just above his elbow, the upper portion pinching the crutch tightly into the crevice of his armpit. Further down, the only part of his right leg that remained was a length of thigh; only empty space there where a knee, ankle and foot should have been. The points where those limbs had been severed were wrapped in thick, white bandages.

Alfred was staring. He knew that it wasn't polite. He just couldn't help himself. "Wang Yao…"

The man glanced down at himself at the American's astonishment. "Oh. Yes, it's pretty bad, isn't it, aru? I have become accustomed to not having them after these last months. There is no more pain now, aru. I was very lucky to have survived at all."

Arthur had risen. The Englishman steadied Wang Yao with a hand when the petite man had to shift the balance of his weight on the crutch. "We have a vehicle that we're traveling in. It should be comfortable enough for you in the front."

"Wait – where's Matthew and Ivan?" Alfred asked. Had they seen the dragon? Had they already found out Wang Yao's condition? How long had he been unconscious?

"I sent Matthew back to the radio to make another attempt at communicating with Geneva. He will let them know that we have succeeded in finding Wang Yao, that he is alive, and that we will be on our way back. I asked him to try to find some portable device that we can continue to transmit with once we return to the road. Ivan went to collect a few supplies and some personal effects from Wang Yao's room." Arthur informed him. They had been busy while the American was unconscious. "Once you feel up to it, we'll be heading out. I estimate that the trip back will take us approximately ten to twelve days, depending on the weather in Russia. We have what we came for and now I would rather be home as soon as possible instead of lingering here longer than necessary."

* * *

The backseat of the jeep had become cramped. Matthew had been transferred to sitting in the back of the vehicle with Alfred and Ivan, freeing up Wang Yao to take up the front passenger seat with his crutch propped against his shoulder. Ivan wasn't happy with having to be sandwiched between the two larger men. As Alfred's bulk began to take up more and more space, the Russian boy eventually slid off the seat so that he could sit on the floor between both pairs of legs.

Arthur suddenly didn't mind having the duty of being the sole driver. At least he didn't have to share his seat with anyone else and could stretch out as much as he pleased. He peeked into the mirror at the trio of unhappy faces. If they failed to make some attempt to fix the situation, it would eventually turn ugly. "We will stop once we get out of the nuclear zone and see if we can't lessen some of the luggage. That will at least open up some more room for the three of you."

"We've been in worse." Matthew responded with dark humor. "Do you guys remember when we had to all fit inside that tiny hardtop jeep on that trip to Cologne, Germany towards the end of the war?"

Wang Yao groaned. "Don't bring that up, aru! That was a terrible experience."

"Was that when France kept 'accidentally' touching us all inappropriately?" Ivan asked curiously. "Or perhaps I am mistaking it for that _other_ time he was doing that…"

"I believe Matthew is referring to that time when we had to make Francis ride on the roof of the jeep because he kept complaining out loud that the bumps on the road were arousing him and he persisted in trying to get us to sit on his lap." Arthur muttered darkly.

"Ah, yes. I remember it now." Ivan said, bristling with the memory. "Though if I recall it correctly, the only person that he kept trying to get to sit on his lap was you, England."

"…You're right. I'd forgotten." Arthur shook his head as he glared at the road in front of them, fingers clenching on the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles went white. "I _hate_… that bloody _tosser_… so _much_. The man isn't even here and he still succeeds in pissing me off."

Alfred chuckled at the Englishman's anger as the American smiled brightly. "You know, it didn't even occur to me before but this is sort of like an Allied Powers reunion, isn't it? Now how is it that so many decades have passed and yet a pack of nations like us _still_ manage to end up clumping together in our dysfunctional little club?"

"It may be dysfunctional, but it _works_." Wang Yao stated sagely. "Despite the fact that we spent more time fighting amongst ourselves than against our enemies we were still able to pull together when it counted. All of our old grudges didn't matter when we stood together on the field of battle. At the hour when it counted the most, we stepped out into the fray not as individual nations or even as empires – we fought together and bled together united as one cause that was greater than even our timeless selves. And we won."

"Damn right we won!" Alfred nodded firmly. "We make one hell of a team."

Matthew was wrapped up in thought. He ventured a question to the others. "Actually, now that I think about it… Aside from showing up for meetings, being a pervert, and signing documents – do you guys remember Francis ever doing anything useful?"

The interior of the jeep went dead silent.

Arthur broke it first by spewing out his precise feelings on the subject of the Frenchman. "That goddamned, pantywaist, wine-guzzling tossbag. When we get back to Geneva I am going to shoot him in the face."

"Wow. Arthur, don't hold back – tell us how you _really_ feel." Alfred was impressed by the string of filthiness that came out of the Englishman's mouth sometimes – though it probably would have sounded worse if he actually knew what half the stuff that Arthur said _meant_.

Once they got off the subject of France, the conversation fell into an easy blend of observations from their time together during the Second War and recollections of events that had happened. Even Ivan was drawn into participating as he contributed his own share of memories that stayed with him through the years. Arthur listened to them as he drove on, smiling at a few of the times that they brought up, frowning irritably at others, even flushing scarlet as they relived a few of his blunders during that time – including one occasion of drunkenness that Arthur could not remember at all though they reassured him that it was, as Alfred put it, an "epic" event.

Their verbal camaraderie lasted throughout the daylight hours into the next night, when Arthur finally determined that he needed to take a break from driving. They set up camp on the outskirts of the nuclear zone. With one extra person, they were forced to stretch their supplies even further, doubling up in the sleeping bags to ward off the chill of the cool night air.

Arthur lay stiffly on the ground when the bag that he was in shifted so that Alfred could slide in with him. None of the others had been willing to share with the American since they all knew that he could be a restless sleeper at times. Being the only one confident in his ability to sleep through such a disturbance (he'd had to learn how to sleep with bombs dropping around him, after all), Arthur was the one who ended up having to do it.

He felt awkward in this situation. He felt silly for feeling awkward, like some inexperienced schoolboy high on nervous anticipation. They were just sharing a sleeping bag, which was no different than sharing a bed – and they had done it countless times through the years, Arthur used to the quiet sounds of the American's slumber, without Arthur ever having felt this strange energy. Though he supposed that those times had been before their relationship had entered a different phase; not that Arthur knew precisely what that stage could be called and was too afraid to give it a definition nor identity yet.

Alfred's legs stretched further down into the bedroll than his. He could feel the American having to curl up just to fit into it up to his shoulders. Arthur felt the firm warmth of Alfred's shoulder push up against his back, the muscles there flat and unyielding and without invitation. The fabric enveloping them scraped with Alfred's motions as the American tried to get comfortable, jerking the padded warmth around so that it would rest better over his longer limbs. Arthur stayed motionless, waiting patiently for him to finally settle down.

The camp had gone quiet for the night. Everyone was too worn with exhaustion to hold sleep off for long. Arthur strained his ears against the silence, hearing the steady rhythm of Matthew's breathy snores from the other bedroll, the crackle of the fire that popped and hissed. He stared off into the forest ahead of him so that he could watch the orange glow of the flames cast dancing patterns onto the darkness of the distant branches. Wang Yao's silhouette was highlighted briefly as the man shifted at his station somewhere behind their bedroll, the shadow of his crutch cutting a line across the fire's light as the Chinese nation prepared for his turn at guarding the camp.

Arthur waited to hear the steady pattern of Alfred's breathing behind him. After all the distress that the American had suffered the previous night, he could not allow himself the luxury of falling asleep until he knew that Alfred had proceeded him into slumber. Several minutes passed where he did not hear the faint snoring that Arthur identified as Alfred's. Frowning, Arthur rolled over, shifting his weight so that he was facing the American.

Alfred was staring at him rather intently.

"Can you not sleep?" Arthur whispered to him, so quiet that his voice barely had any volume.

"No. I'm too tense. I don't know why." Alfred answered dully. Naturally, he wanted to pretend not to know the reason for his distress rather than acknowledge what was truly bothering him. The memory of his face the previous night; agonized with grief, with sorrow, with _guilt_ – had not even begun to fade in Arthur's mind. Arthur had mistakenly believed that the time that had passed on this journey had cured Alfred of those feelings of self-incrimination. Last night's display - all those twisted, charred, and poisoned bodies had succeeded in reopening the wound in Alfred's heart.

Arthur slid his arm across the width of the younger man's chest until his palm rested over the steady beat of Alfred's heart. He spread his fingers out in as wide a fan that they could manage as though they could shield that tender, vital organ from harm. "You don't protect it well enough. That has always been a flaw of yours; your enemies may strike at your body as much as they please without felling you and yet one blow to the heart and you're undone. Most people are wise enough to keep it protected in their ribcage. You wear it vulnerably on your sleeve."

"Are you trying to say that I have a weak heart?" Hearing those words caused Alfred's eyebrows to quirk in opposing angles – prepared to misinterpret them as he always did.

Arthur exhaled deeply through his nose. "Not at all. Your heart is your greatest strength and your greatest weakness. I am merely suggesting that you should make more effort to keep it guarded than you do."

"What if I…?" Alfred went silent. His hand came up to rest atop of Arthur's there on his chest, eyes darting from the sight of their flesh touching to strike into the other man's instead. "What if I let you hold onto it? How would you keep it safe?"

"I'd probably lock it up tighter than the Crown Jewels." Arthur chuckled his answer. As Alfred continued to stare into his eyes in that unusually serious manner it became clear that the question had not been playful. Arthur let the humor drain out of his face as he held that stare. "Alfred. America. What are you trying to say?"

Alfred didn't give him an answer right away. He curled his fingers around Arthur's wrist, those long fingers swallowing up the circumference of it, as Alfred peeled the other man's hand off his chest. Alfred traced the tip of his other hand's index finger over the terrain of Arthur's palm, feeling the roughness of the skin in places, just as he had done aboard the ship that had delivered him to Geneva what seemed like an eternity ago. "I don't really know. You and I share the same language but we always end up using the wrong words to each other. Our tongues match yet they get twisted when it comes to communicating precisely what we want to say."

Coaxing Arthur's fingers to curl shut, Alfred drew that hand to his mouth so that he could feather a kiss on the back of the knuckles – like he were a true gentleman rather than an 'uncouth country bumpkin' or whatever Arthur might have called him in the past. "If I were to tell you some sentimental line like 'I love you', or 'You had me at hello', would stuff like that even have _meaning_ for beings like us? Do words like that even _define_ it? I doubt that I could explain my feelings any better than I could describe the person that you are to me; father, brother, mentor, friend, companion, confidant, ally…" He smirked faintly, "Or nuisance, bully, nitpicker, nag."

Alfred shook his head, defeated from finding the answer within. "I dunno. Hollywood always made it sound so easy. Saying those three little magic words was the phrase that made everything better, that would slay the monster or save the day. Happily ever after – fade to black and roll the credits." His eyes zoned back in on Arthur's as he came back from the tangent that his brain had gone on. "I could just tell you that like they do in the movies. It just… just seems so _lame_."

Arthur's throat worked soundlessly. He had managed to keep his composure through the entirety of Alfred's rambling speech. Now that it was over, he knew that it was his turn to say something. While his brain turned over potentially poetic lines, plotted out turns of phrase that would have made Shakespeare envious, Arthur's mouth opened up in order to sputter out. "As far as confessions of adoration go, that was total shit."

"I know." Alfred intoned flatly as he nodded his agreement. "Could I at least get an 'A' for effort?"

"Absobloodylutely not." Arthur gasped in disbelief that the American would dare grade himself so high for such a shoddy attempt.

Alfred dropped his head to the ground. It went a little faster than planned, resulting in it thudding down harder than he'd expected. He grunted with a wince. "So… where exactly does that leave us, then?"

"Alfred…" Arthur sighed. He flopped over onto his side so that his back was pointed at the American again. Pillowing his head on his hands, Arthur burrowed his cheek against their chilled surface in an effort to warm them up. "I don't know. You're speaking to the one individual that hasn't the foggiest notion of the subject to begin with, aside from a purely subjective standpoint. If you are dead set on some sort of answer, though… I suppose that I am fond of you. Does that suffice for the time being?"

"It'll do." He heard Alfred chuckle at his discomfort with handling a discussion on such delicate feelings. Arthur scowled as he felt Alfred turn over and snake an arm around his middle. Alfred's body molded to him in a wash of warmth as the American tucked the smaller man into his embrace.

The situation should have made him uncomfortable. Arthur was convinced that being held in such a manner by the American was going to cause him far too much discomfort; not only from being smothered with the other man's presence, but also due to his fear at being embarrassed by the opinions of the others. Arthur decided not to fight off the embrace only because he figured the tax of energy that it would take to do it would be a waste.

He laid there in resigned silence, feeling the warm press of Alfred's nose as the American curled it into the nape of his neck. Only a few minutes passed until the younger man's breath became a steady fan of warmth spilling down Arthur's shirt collar. The sensation caused the tension in his muscles to ease over time, until Arthur finally relaxed enough that sleep managed to finally overwhelm him.

* * *

"Okay, so: 'I spy with my little eye something beginning with 'S''." Alfred volunteered cheerfully to the generally assembly of the jeep.

"Shoe." Ivan said dully.

"No, seat." Matthew countered with the same lack of enthusiasm.

Alfred pouted over at the two of them. "How do you guys keep guessing so fast?"

"You can barely see further than a foot or two away, Alfred." His brother informed him irritably. "It narrows down the range of what you're going to see for that stupid game."

The American spread his hands out. "Just because you guys are content with being bored out of _your _skulls doesn't mean that I don't have the right to entertain myself. You're probably just jealous that you can't think of a better game to play."

"I have a thought." Arthur said from the driver's seat. "Why don't we play that classic gem called 'The Quiet Game'? It's that fun one where everyone says absolutely nothing for hours at a time. All those in favor of switching to that game instead?"

Alfred glowered around as everyone else in the vehicle lifted hands into the air. He folded his arms together, sulking as he glared out of the side of the jeep. While he could understand why the geezers would be against having a good time, there was no reason to justify why Matthew didn't have his back. "Whatever. Don't come bitching to me when you guys keel over from ennui."

Wang Yao didn't hide his gratitude as he tore his eyes away from the map to regard Arthur. At least the American had finally stopped talking. He tapped his index finger on the surface of the map. "We should reach the border in another day or two. You mentioned something about wanting to adjust the route back through Russia's territory?"

"Let's just say that we ran afoul of some locals there and that I would like to avoid the chance of running into them again." Arthur explained vaguely. "It will add another day onto the trip home. I am prepared to accept that inconvenience if it allows us to avoid any other trouble. We've had more than enough of that on this journey."

"I see. Has there been anything at all over the transmitter?" Wang Yao shifted in his seat to check on Matthew.

The Canadian shook his head as he lowered the small hand-held radio from beside his ear. "I haven't heard anything yet. As you've heard, I'm still trying to make contact. No one is responding."

"Stick with it. Someone is bound to hear us." Wang Yao promised him as he settled down. "I can't imagine that they haven't made _some_ progress while we have been away from the world."

"I'm not sure." Arthur smirked as he shifted gears to increase their speed when the road became one long, smooth stretch as they reached the fringe of the forest. "Aside from Germany and Japan, all the truly rational nations are here in this jeep. I doubt that the two of them could successfully handle keeping the chaos of the others under control without our assistance."

"Ha ha. This is what it would be like if the Axis Powers were running the world, da?" Ivan asked them with a beaming smile.

The jeep fell silent again. Just as it had done when they'd discussed France.

Arthur scowled, shifting gears again so that they were traveling that much faster. "A little more speed couldn't hurt, I suppose."

They were coming up on the end of the wooded landscape. Beyond the trees, Arthur could see wide open green fields in the distance and the mountains far ahead that would lead them into Mongolia. As they came around the shade of the trees, the sun opened up ahead without the cluster of forest to block it. That sudden burst of light briefly dazzled his eyes, Arthur squinting against the sudden onslaught to his vision. Dirt on the windshield obscured the road for mere seconds in an effective screen. With a growl of irritation, Arthur shifted the gears to power through it quickly in order to balance the light again so that he could see.

As the glare faded with a shift in speed and an adjustment to the wheel, there was a flash of silver in the distance several yards ahead of them. Arthur frowned. His mind whispered to him that it knew what that was, even this far away, and that driving towards it was not the best idea. Wang Yao straightened in the passenger's seat, stretching his left hand across his body to grip Arthur's arm in order to warn him – too little, too late.

A shower of sparks chased across the front left side of the jeep in bright bursts of yellow, the sharp pops of the metal being penetrated loud even over the noise of the engine. Arthur struggled with the wheel as the vehicle tried to jerk with the force of bullets that were driving into it. That spray of gunshots chewed into the left front tire and the wheel jerked so violently in response as the jeep fishtailed that Arthur almost lost his hold on it. He grit his teeth as he fought with it, grating out a yell to the others. "Hold on!"

Arthur gasped as the jeep lurched dangerously, not wanting to allow him to de-accelerate in time to avoid it from turning in a sharp, unavoidable arch. He felt the front of the jeep catch forward on the ground. Their momentum carried them too fast; Arthur's only view was of the ground rushing up to meet the windshield as the rear end of the jeep kicked up into the air, sending them crashing over. Arthur felt a strange sensation of flying before something struck him hard on the head and the world went black.

* * *

Ivan's hand shifted beside him. He felt the foreign softness of grass tickling against his palm, warm sunlight bathing his body with its lovely heat. The Russian found it peaceful. If he could afford it, Ivan would have lingered in the moment forever. Unfortunately, there were important tasks that needed doing. Specifically a solution to the situation that they had landed into, as Ivan cracked his eyes open to view the world around him with dazed violet.

The jeep lay on its top. Ivan could see the wheels still spinning from having stopped so fast. Some of the bullets must have hit some vital part of the engine – the vehicle had gone silent. He could smell gas in the air, though it was hard to tell whether it came from the crushed container of their petroleum reserves or from the gas tank itself. All of their belongings had been pinned under the weight of the vehicle; Ivan wagered that most of it would be useless now.

He had a good view of everything. Being so small, and not having been buckled in when they'd gone skyward, Ivan was thrown a considerable distance away from where the jeep had landed. He saw the military vehicles parked in a half-crescent further down the road – the armed soldiers standing with their weapons drawn in a similar fashion around the jeep. Ivan inched his head slowly across the grass; none of them seemed aware of him yet and he did not want to draw their attention. It was considerably painful just to move. Ivan ignored the aches of his body as he tried to find the others.

England lay on the grass a few feet from the jeep. The Englishman moved sluggishly as one of the soldiers prodded at him with the barrel of a rifle. Despite being so far away, Ivan could see a bright scarlet smear of blood on the side of England's head, those big green eyes coated with a glint of pain and confusion. Once the soldiers had forced England to sit up, the Englishman lifted both hands in the air as he blinked at the gun in his face.

They already had China flanked by a pair of soldiers. He did not have any visible wounds, though pain still hardened his face as his dark eyes rotated back and forth to the two soldiers standing over him. One of the men grabbed him when he was about to topple over without the support of his crutch, ungentle in the way that he yanked China back upright. China's hair had fallen loose from its bindings and spilled across his face in a web of black silk as he turned his head hurriedly in the direction of the jeep.

Two soldiers were pulling Canada out from beside the vehicle; both men had a hold on his wrists in order to drag him by the arms. Canada was conscious but did not fight them as he was hauled over to where England and China were being held. Ivan could see that the Canadian was barely paying the soldiers any attention – he was too distracted searching around for the last member of their group.

One of the doors to the military jeeps opened up. The imposing figure of the Russian Commander stepped out of it, approaching the cluster of soldiers and captives with a pleased smile. Ivan knew that it was only a matter of time before he was discovered on the opposite side of the jeep. The boy forced himself to roll over onto his stomach. His left arm wasn't responding to his commands; it had been broken in the crash. That was going to be inconvenient. Ivan could work around that, though. He crawled forward into the shadow of the jeep, curling up as small as he could make himself.

The Commander paced leisurely in front of the captives, gloved hands clutched behind his back. His pale blue eyes touched on each man, appraising them with amused satisfaction. "Well. It would seem that we meet again, comrades. What a fortuitous coincidence! I was becoming concerned that I had missed you on your way back."

He began to tug off his gloves with a small smile when none of them gave him a response. "I am both amazed and perplexed; perhaps you can help solve a mystery for me? I see that you now have another among you – a Chinaman, yes? How is it that you were able to enter the country to fetch him? China is a nuclear wasteland. The elements should have eaten all of you alive. Yet here you are. What is the trick that you used to manage such a feat?"

"There was no real trick to it." Arthur mumbled sourly. "We simply walked in. You should try it." His eyes remained fixed on the jeep, trying to catch some sign of Alfred.

The Commander followed his gaze. "Ah. I wouldn't invest too much concern over your American friend. Your jeep rolled right over him – if he is not already dead then I expect that he will be shortly. I am rather disappointed that I will be unable to deliver him to death myself. I had been so looking forward to it."

Arthur paled at the man's words. He scowled at the jeep as worry creased his brow, calling out towards it. "Alfred? Alfred, are you in there?"

While Arthur was waiting for a response, the Commander's arm swung out at him. A blow from the man's hand smashed across his face with vicious efficiency. Arthur flinched with it as pain blossomed there on the surface of his cheek. He was already unsteady from the wound to his head, so Arthur had to brace a hand on the grass beneath him to prevent falling over in the aftermath. Green eyes angled up at the Commander from beneath the shadows of his hair, narrowing angrily.

The Commander took hold of Arthur by the front of his jacket, squeezing the fabric taut around his throat as he bent in to return that glaring look. "I asked you a question. My patience for you is long expired; if you refuse to give me answers then I will not be so lenient this time around."

"I have nothing to say to the likes of you." Arthur told him, mouth curling in disgust at the man's demands.

"Very well." Releasing him, the Commander took a full stride backwards. He studied Arthur thoughtfully as he reached to his belt, withdrawing a pistol from the holster there. Sliding open the barrel, the military leader checked to make sure that the chambers were full.

Arthur watched him as the man tapped the pistol against his hip. The Commander measured Wang Yao and Matthew individually. Then, with a growing smile, the Commander strolled around to stand behind where Matthew was kneeling. He glanced slyly over at Arthur before lifting his pistol to press the barrel directly at the back of Matthew's skull. The Canadian tensed as that firm metal pushed against his scalp.

"Wait, don't!" Arthur cried out in alarm. He saw that the Commander pause. The bastard was enjoying this. "Don't hurt him, for God's sake."

"Hm. I was curious as to whether your friends were more important to you than your secrets." The man said with a smirk. "You do not want me to shoot your friend here? And what about the American? He is done for anyway – shall I end his misery?" The Commander turned his pistol to face the jeep. He smiled lightly when they all remained silent. "Still not feeling motivated to answer my questions? Then you leave me with no other choice."

Squeezing the trigger, he fired a couple of shots into the container of gas. Fuel began to ooze out from the holes, splashing down over the rear of the jeep, the chemical fumes billowing up into the air around them. The Commander held out his empty hand to a nearby soldier. A small silver lighter was placed into his waiting palm. "Take them to the vehicles. Send a transmission ahead to our temporary base – let them know that we have our foreign prisoners and that we will be arriving within the hour."

Soldiers began to wrestle Arthur up to his feet, Matthew already getting dragged away towards the vehicles while straining to look worriedly over his shoulder at the ruins of their jeep. The Englishman had become much less cooperative after watching the display conducted by the Russian leader. Arthur struggled against the hands that held him as he looked at the Commander, then to the gas-drenched jeep. "Wait. Wait! You said that he's still in there – you have to get him out!"

The Commander was staring at the overturned vehicle with a satisfied smile. His eyes swiveled to Arthur with an upturned eyebrow. "Oh? I think that is where you are very wrong. Perhaps I have made it unclear that I am the one in charge of your fates? As valuable as an American hostage might have been to me before, I am content with the three of you. Let me make it as clear to you as possible – I am the one that decides whether you will live or you will die."

Flipping open the lighter, the Russian leader struck the flame to life. He kept an intent watch on Arthur to see the play of emotions traveling over the Englishman's face, finally resting on horror as that lit lighter was tossed casually at the jeep, igniting a stream of gasoline that was oozing down from the container. That sudden stream of fire raced in all directions, flaring out into the air as the fumes accelerated its strength in an outward explosion of orange flames. Considering the sheer amount of fodder for the burning, the entire back of the jeep set ablaze within moments as those reaching flames spread to engross the belongings packed just behind the backseat.

Arthur flew into a sudden rage. The soldiers clutching at him were taken by surprise as the man in their grip exhibited an unexpected level of strength. Arthur threw his captors to the ground with a complete lack of restraint as he lurched towards the burning vehicle. "Alfred!"

Other soldiers moved in to restrain him. The Englishman batted them aside like reeds, sending one unfortunate man flying some distance across the grass. Arthur thought that he heard one of the others calling out to him in warning. He half-turned, green eyes incensed, just in time to receive the harsh blow of the end of a rifle as it slammed directly into his face. The blow caused him to stumble, a flash of white blinding him. Arthur felt it hit him again just as strongly as before and this time it was enough to cause his vision to explode into blackness.

The Englishman crumpled in a heap on the ground, several feet away from the burning jeep. As the soldiers recovered from his outburst, a few of them scooped his limp body up from the ground, dragging Arthur in the direction of the other vehicles. The Commander shook his head slowly, marveling at how troublesome the little Brit had proven himself to be. Not that his efforts had paid off in the end. The Commander checked on the progress of the burning jeep one more time. He signaled to his men. "Let's move out before it explodes."

Matthew ended up being forced into the back of a van, not having been there to watch the Commander set fire to their vehicle. He gasped as they threw Arthur's unconscious figure in with him. The Canadian surveyed the blood on the Englishman's face, able to see where the rifle had split the skin. Matthew attempted to wipe some of the blood off with the sleeves of his shirt.

Wang Yao was thrust in shortly after that, the petite man falling over without the support to keep him upright and balanced. Matthew asked him quickly. "Where's Alfred? Where's Ivan?" There was no sign of Russia anywhere. It wasn't until the soldiers slammed the doors shut on him that Matthew felt panic, not knowing where his brother was in all this chaos.

Wang Yao's face crumbled with grief. His eyes darted to the back doors of the van, silently directing Matthew's attention their way.

The Canadian's head lifted as the van began to drive off, catching a reflection of fire off the glass in the windows that were fixed into the back doors. Matthew's jaw went slack as he saw that their jeep was in flames. He slapped a palm against the glass, frantic. He struggled with the doors. They wouldn't budge. Matthew cursed the fact that he had not been blessed with the same abnormal strength as his brother. "No. No! He can't be in there. Alfred! ALFRED!"

* * *

A/N: I should be chased by a mob carrying pitchforks and torches. I absolutely hate leaving it this way, but I couldn't divide up the next bits properly. Boo.


	15. Chapter 15

Hello again! I managed to find some time in the recent chaos to finish getting this next installment written. It was hard to get it out exactly like I wanted it - a lack of sleep lately has killed most of my creative brain functions. Ha ha.

If I continue to follow the outline that I had originally plotted out for this story, FtA should be done in about two more installments. Though I always end up deviating and adding more than I'd intended, and stretching things out. I suppose that isn't a _bad_ thing.

And I can be cruel at times with the things I write. I'm just not totally heartless. Sometimes I may want to leave my country - I just could not bring myself to kill it.

I hope that you enjoy it. Thanks for sticking with me this long!

* * *

Ivan coughed harshly in the smoke that billowed around him in all directions. He had just managed to crawl into the cover of the trees when the jeep exploded in a grand burst of flames. The fire had quickly licked out into the branches of the trees where he had taken shelter. Now the entire cluster of trees had begun to burn. Ivan pulled his scarf up over his face to shield his lungs from inhaling the harmful smoke. He crawled forward across the forest's floor, bits of burning ash raining down over him from above as the boy tried to stay as low to the ground as he could.

The soldiers might have still been close. He did not want to come out of the forest yet and risk exposing himself to their attention. Ivan's arm dragged at his side as he inched along, eyes tearing up from the poisoned air and the heat. He felt the tug of the others – the supernatural vibe of other nations – growing fainter as they were undoubtedly taken away. It left Ivan wondering what the hell he was going to do in this situation.

Pulling himself along, Ivan caught a glimpse of something through the haze of smoke that seemed out of place on the forest floor. The boy crawled his way to it, bolstered by the thrum of a faint heartbeat that echoed back at his. As his vision cleared upon reaching the obstruction, Ivan saw that it was America.

America lay motionless on the ground, the highlights of his hair shining golden in the orange glow of the fires around them. He was face down, limbs having landed gracelessly around him. Ivan noticed that the younger nation did not respond even when the boy prodded him insistently with his foot to try and rouse the American. With a frown, the Russian boy scooted until he could brace his back against Alfred's side. He pushed against the ground with his feet, shoving until he felt the younger man's body starting to roll over.

Ivan did not like how non-responsive the normally animated man was. Once he had Alfred on his back, Ivan's head lowered so that he could check the pace of the younger man's vital signs. They were faint. Alarmingly faint. Had the jeep really rolled over him? Had he succumbed already to the smoke that blanketed them? Ivan weighed his options. Then, with a resigned shrug, the boy leaned over the top of Alfred's prone form. He tugged the fabric of his scarf away from his mouth to move it back down to his neck so that it wouldn't interrupt his work.

The boy pinched his fingers on the delicate slope of Alfred's nose, closing off the airflow of the nostrils. Ivan made a face thinking on what he was about to do. He convinced himself that it was a necessary evil. Lowering in with hesitation, Ivan swooped his mouth down to cover the American's, smaller lips stretching open with the intention of filling Alfred's lungs with cleansing air.

Less than an inch from reaching his goal, a hand thrust up between their mouths. Ivan made a sound of surprise as a large palm swallowed up most of the width of his face, nose flattened by its sudden pressure. He had enough time to blink before that hand pushed him backwards hard enough that he toppled over onto the ground. Ivan righted himself as best as he could with a glare at the man who was now beginning to move around on the floor, Alfred's movements ginger from pain. "You were playing dead? Stupid America!"

"I thought you might have been one of the soldiers." Alfred croaked out, coughing against the onslaught of the foul air. "I didn't expect that you'd come along and try to make out with me."

"I wasn't trying to—" Ivan threw his good hand up in the air with a growl of frustration. Let the idiot think what he wanted. As Alfred continued to shift around, the boy saw him favoring his torso with an arm, enfolding it protectively as the American sat up. "You are injured?"

Alfred nodded, looking around them with his half-blind eyes. "I think so. Pretty sure that I broke some of my ribs when the jeep threw me – I remember seeing the branches come racing at me, then felt myself smack into one of the trees here. That's what I get for not wearing my seatbelt…" Seeing that their numbers had diminished considerably, the American supported himself against one of the nearby trees as he shifted onto his knees in preparation of standing. "Where's everyone else?"

"The soldiers took them. I managed to grab hold of Canada's fallen radio from the jeep before sneaking here to hide. Unfortunately, they set the jeep on fire. It blew up – which is why the forest is currently burning down around us." Ivan wrapped his good hand around the length of his limp arm, cradling it. "My arm either dislocated or broke when we flipped over."

"Let's get out of all this smoke first. Then we'll patch ourselves up somehow and make a plan on how we're going to rescue them." Alfred suggested to the boy. He pushed himself away from the tree in order to stagger forward. Ivan followed him just as unsteadily, having to brace a hand on Alfred's hip when he nearly fell over as a root tripped him.

They came out into the clearing where their jeep was still burning ferociously. Night had fallen, so they had nothing else to see by except for the flaring light of the flames. Blackened smoke had even clouded their ability to view the sky overhead, hiding the moon and stars. Alfred sagged onto his knees once they had reached fresher air, coughing so violently that he wondered if his lungs were going to come flying out of his mouth. Ivan sat down nearby doing the same thing, though the boy was quicker to recover.

Ivan's violet eyes stared at the fireball that used to be their jeep. "How are we going to catch up to the soldiers? They had vehicles to drive in."

"We walk, of course. It's like the old days all over again." Alfred said with black humor. He winced as he patted himself down. The American checked to make sure that his gun was still in his leg holster, fingers brushing over the hard metal of it with a sigh of relief. At least they weren't going to be trekking along totally without defense. "How long have they been gone?"

"Perhaps an hour. Their last communication with their base had been about forty-five minutes ago, stating that they were soon to arrive."

"So their base is about an hour's drive away." Alfred surmised with a frown. "Adjusting that from vehicle power to foot power, it'll take us a few hours to arrive. Do you know what direction they drove off in?"

Ivan nodded. "They drove north on the main road. Once we get closer to their location, I expect that our connection to the others will help us determine which way to walk to get to the correct spot." He saw Alfred heading at him, pale eyebrows arching quizzically at the determined, vaguely enthusiastic expression on the American's face. "What… is America planning to do to Russia?"

"Now, now. Don't make a fuss." Alfred told him sternly as the Russian boy shrank back from him a little. "The first thing that I am going to do is set your arm so that it will heal correctly. It will hurt like hell. I am going to try not to enjoy that part, if you promise not to pass out."

"…I really hate you, America."

"The feeling is entirely mutual." Alfred cooed pleasantly. He fit his hands on either side of the break in the boy's arm. Despite his earlier words, the American couldn't help a tiny smile as he tightened his grip and yanked.

* * *

_Arthur stood on the porch of the house he shared with America, working over the wooden boards with a stick broom to sweep off the dirt, leaves and dust that had settled on them over time. While he might have been a blossoming empire there was little excuse for an unkempt porch. He knew that he could leave such a task to the servants that had been hired to take care of the house for little America, but Arthur wanted to keep himself busy so that he wouldn't get caught up in worrying what mischief the boys were up to – or, more accurately, what trouble America was brewing that Canada would inevitably get dragged into._

_More than likely, they were off climbing trees somewhere (and getting dirty). Or they might have gone chasing after frogs in the muddy riverbed nearby the house (and getting filthy). Though the pair might have just made a game out of rolling down the hill behind the residence (getting grass stains all over their clothes). Whatever it was that they were doing, it would be something to undermine every bit of hard work that Arthur had done trying to make sure that they were clean and dressed presentably that morning. Arthur scowled at the porch, steaming in silence as he began to scour the wood more roughly with the broom bristles._

_He looked up hurriedly from his work when the sound of wailing pricked his ears. Arthur immediately wondered which of the boys had managed to get injured; cuts, scrapes, bruises were all part of the norm. Green eyes blinked as he saw Canada come running out of the trees with tears streaming down his face. It was usually America who ended up hurt due to his usual lack of caution. Arthur was bothered by the fact that little Canada had come running to the house all alone, wondering at the absence of America. "Canada?"_

"_England, England!" Canada wailed as he leapt up the porch two steps at a time in order to throw himself against the man. Petite arms clung to Arthur's middle as high as they could stretch as the boy cried up to him, distressed and frightened. "Come quick! Something's wrong with America. Hurry!"_

_No further prompt was needed than that. The broom clattered to the porch as Arthur dropped it, a hand swallowing up Canada's as he peeled the boy from around his waist. "Take me to him."_

_Arthur tried not to panic. It wouldn't do any good to upset little Canada any more than he already was. Internally, though, he was becoming frantic as his mind started to whisper to him all sorts of worst-case scenarios. America might have injured himself badly. He could have fallen off something and broken his neck. Perhaps some wild animal had attacked the boy. Arthur felt his heart racing alarmingly fast in his chest as a sickness filled his stomach. He cursed himself for having let the boy out of his sight. Arthur had always known that it would be a matter of time before the adventurous youth ended up badly hurt – or worse._

_They moved hastily through the forest, Canada leading the older man by the hand as the boy tugged him along insistently. Arthur's eyes searched desperately for some sign of where America was in all these dense woods. He wondered if the boy was even leading him in the right direction – Canada was still learning on how to find his bearings. They could very well have been going the opposite way. Arthur felt relief when he caught sight of a few woodland fae darting nearby. They were pulling back the branches that threatened to hit him in the face, helping to guide him along the right path._

_Canada, bless him, had been leading them too far southeast. Arthur tugged the boy's hand to pull him towards the correct direction. "This way. He's this way." The boy didn't argue with Arthur, Canada's small feet stumbling over the foliage as he ran alongside Arthur's longer strides._

_At last they emerged into a small clearing there in the forest. Arthur slowed his hurried steps to a crawl as his eyes swept around, finally locating America in the patch of green grass and wild flowers as the sound of weeping snared his attention. He was relieved to see that the boy appeared to be uninjured and disturbed to find the youth in the manner that he was discovered._

_There was a large buffalo that lay dead there in the field, its large brown body a glaring contrast to the unbroken green that surrounded it. America was splayed out atop its massive corpse, muffling the sounds of his sobs into the creature's thick, coarse hairs. The boy's small fingers were twined around the thicker patch of fur at the buffalo's neck, tugging at it in desperation. _

_Canada looked up at Arthur. His eyes were perfect circles in his face, nearly swallowing up the flesh around them as his mouth trembled. "I told him to leave it and come back with me, but he wouldn't listen. He just keeps crying and it makes me… makes me want to…" America's tears caused Canada to become overwhelmed with his own again, as the smaller boy started to wail piteously._

_Arthur sighed. The peaceful sounds of the forest around them were drowned out by the volume of both boys crying - though this was also not so unusual for an average day either._

_He decided to deal with Canada first, being that the smaller boy was more reasonable and could be managed by less effort. Arthur knelt down beside him, feeling the soft sponge of the grass give way under his weight. His hands touched lightly to Canada's slim shoulders as he soothed the boy with a gentle tone. "There now, enough of these tears. Be a dear boy and kindly return to the house. I shall deal with America and we shall be along shortly after. Do you think that you can find your way back alone?"_

"_I think so." Canada told him in a wavering voice. As Arthur dabbed at his tears, the boy sucked in a deep, stabling breath as he put on his bravest face. He deliberately did not look at America, afraid that his resolve would fail. The boy turned from the two of them and bounded into the forest to fulfill the gentle command that Arthur had given him._

_As Canada ran off, Arthur's eyes went skyward to touch dubiously on the woodland fairies that were hovering nearby. "Would you see that he makes his way safely home? I'll be along here soon." They nodded, zipping away with a buzz of their wings, the sunlight overhead casting them with a flicker of iridescence. Once they had gone off to keep watch over Canada, Arthur stood and brushed bits of grass off his knee. Now came the larger chore of handling America. "America, come away from there."_

_America was still sobbing, though Arthur suspected that the boy had to be aware of his presence by now. He stood directly behind the youth, bending in so that he could take hold of America's forearms in an attempt to pry the boy away from the buffalo's corpse. Being as stubborn as ever, America did not make it easy for Arthur to budge him. Despite America's impressive strength for such a young colony, Arthur was still a budding empire and with some increased insistence of his tugs he finally pulled America loose. "Enough. Why are you here crying over this dead creature?"_

_The response that he got was a blubbering, hiccupping, completely unintelligible answer as America's words slurred together in a mess of high-pitched wails and low tearful moans. Arthur didn't even attempt to make a translation. He used the same handkerchief that had tended Canada's tears to mop up the mess of moisture coating America's boyish face, stating calmly, "I cannot understand a word you say if you persist with your crying."_

_Arthur waited patiently for the hiccups to subside. When the strength of America's tears had weakened enough, he snaked his arms around Arthur's waist, clinging to him as the boy buried his face into the soft cloth of the older man's garments. Arthur tensed – not due to the affection, since America's affections never bothered him, but because of the fact that those same arms had just been all over a dead animal. It was an internal struggle not to let it make him too uncomfortable, though Arthur knew that these clothes of his were going to need a good scrubbing before he would dare to put them on again._

_America sniffled, speaking muffled words into Arthur's chest. "He was my favorite friend for such a long time, England. I don't understand what is the matter with him! We meet here sometimes to play together – but as you can see he simply won't wake up no matter how much I plead with him."_

"_The problem is apparent, America – he's dead. Surely you can see that?" Arthur was bewildered. While it was true that the boy could be dense on occasion, he couldn't fathom that America would not be able to deduce such an obvious fact._

_America's cheek brushed over Arthur's coat as the boy peeked at the buffalo. Sky blue eyes were full of confused sorrow as they lifted to the man's face. "He's what?"_

"_Dead." Arthur repeated as he frowned down into that wondering gaze._

"_Can you ask him to stop, then?" America asked innocently, eyes expanding in that doe-like way he utilized to get the results he wanted._

"_You can't—" Arthur began to speak in exasperation. Then a startling fact crossed his mind. Out of all the fundamentals that he had been teaching America since taking him into his care, Arthur had neglected to inform him about an extremely important one. Tentatively, he broached the topic with the boy. "America… do you not know what death is? Have you never… never seen something like this buffalo here?"_

"_I have seen the game that you have brought into the house for meals. Are they similar?" America gasped, clenching his fingers into Arthur's coat. "We aren't going to eat my friend, are we? England, we cannot do such a thing!"_

"_No, America, we are not." Arthur murmured after he entertained the idea briefly. There was no telling how long the beast had been dead. The meat might have already been poisoned by the breakdown of the creature's innards. It was a shame – that would have provided them enough of a feast to probably last the entire winter. "But do you not understand what has happened to him?"_

"_I think… no."_

_Arthur nodded somberly. He fit his arm across America's back, able to tell from the tremble of the muscles that the boy was still upset. "Let's sit down. This sort of subject is never pleasant." _

_Arthur guided him across the small clearing. They sat down together on a patch of grass that was being warmed by the sun. He made America sit close to him, near enough that he could drape an arm comfortably across the boy's shoulders so that America fit into the warmth of his embrace. Once the youth had finished snuggling in against his caretaker's side, Arthur organized his thoughts so that he could explain everything to America._

_It went more smoothly than he had thought it would. America's interruptions were nothing more disruptive than to ask questions that were thoughtful instead of demanding. Arthur was glad that the boy gleaned the subject without him having to repeat himself several times. When he felt he'd explained everything enough, Arthur glanced down to the top of the boy's head. "Do you have any other questions, America?"_

_America raised his face so that he could meet Arthur's eyes. Their pale depths were enriched with a melancholy wisdom that was incongruous with the boyishness of the face around them. "Will you be dying soon, England? You are of considerable age, are you not?"_

"_I am older than many nations, that is true." Arthur told him. "Though I am different than other living creatures. While it is possible for us to expire – the ancient Roman Empire comes to mind – I am quite healthy right now, as far as nations go; if things continue to progress as they are now, I may even become one of the strongest nations. I do not anticipate meeting my demise any time soon."_

"_What about me?" America's eyes were studying him mercilessly. "I am still just a colony; will it not be possible for me to easily expire?"_

_Arthur considered the question. It was true that America was still vulnerable to meeting his demise - though he had strength, resources and all the makings of a promising nation in his future, Arthur had seen many times when the tide had turned and swept all of those things away from many defunct colonies throughout the years. Still…_

_He brought his hand up and planted it on the top of America's head, ruffling his hair affectionately. "That won't be your fate, America. So long as I still exist in this world, I shall make certain that you shall never die."_

"_I'm glad to hear that, England. I think that—"_

Icy water splashed over Arthur in a torrent, the shock of it severe enough to propel him awake with a gasp. He shivered as it slid down his body in slow, chilled trails. His clothes were already damp from the sweat that he'd broken out into somewhere in the middle of being tortured – though at the moment Arthur couldn't recall any details of what had transpired in the span of time from when he'd blacked out at the jeep to being so rudely woken.

Arthur was angry the second he opened his eyes. Rather, when he opened the left one – the right one was too swollen to see through it. He glowered up accusingly at Matthew upon discovering that the Canadian was still holding the dripping bucket. His teeth chattered together as he hissed out. "You di-didn't have t-to d-do that!"

"Unfortunately, I did." Matthew told him quietly as he set the bucket off to the side. He reached down to support Arthur's neck as the older man laid down on the cold stones of the floor again. The water from the bucket had soaked it, a fresh chill of moisture seeping into his shirt. Arthur figured that at this point the extra wetness really didn't matter. Matthew spoke to him as Arthur relaxed some of the tension from his muscles. "You've been wavering in a state of delirium or unconscious. I didn't want to shake you around too much and I don't even know what places are safe to touch on your body. They really worked you over – do you remember anything?"

"I don't. Though I honestly never try to dwell much on memories of being under such duress." Arthur mumbled. He regretted trying to relax. Doing so had only made the aches and pains throughout his body that much more prominent. Had they left anything untouched by bruises? "Give me some time and I'll be fine. They weren't trying to hurt me enough to kill me. That's a good sign, at least."

The only light that illuminated the holding cell that they had been stowed in was what came through the thick bars of the window. They had tried to get the bars out shortly after arriving. None of them were strong enough to get the metal to budge. Arthur had already been in poor condition when they'd reached the base of their captors; now he couldn't even stand straight enough to grab the bars.

Wang Yao shifted somewhere off to his left, Arthur was able to hear the man's chains rattling with the movements. "They might not treat you so badly if you stopped mouthing off at them, Arthur." Wang Yao appeared in the air above him, delicate features rigid with anger. He started to examine the Englishman to check the extent of his injuries, fingers probing at bruises hidden under the fabric of Arthur's shirt.

When Wang Yao grabbed the hem of his shirt to lift it so that he could see them, Arthur swatted his hand aside. "Leave it. I said that I was fine."

"Some of the bleeding might be internal, aru. I will need to lay eyes on the injuries to know for sure." Wang Yao pointed out to him dully. He reacted to Arthur's refusal in the same manner of a parent with a testy child. "You might think it valiant to keep angering our captors but getting beaten within an inch of your life is hardly a wise strategy, aru."

"I don't care about being noble." Arthur protested hotly. "That isn't what I—"

"Getting yourself beaten up will not change what happened." Wang Yao told him grimly. "You do nothing to improve the situation by allowing yourself to be the punching bag of our captors, aru."

Arthur's mouth clamped shut. Matthew had been quiet while they spoke, though now he dropped his eyes from Wang Yao's face to peer down at Arthur. "He's right. I wish that there were more that I could have done for Alfred, too. We can't even know for sure that he's really gone. We won't know anything so long as we are imprisoned here."

"Matthew is right, aru. We need to think of a plan for how we will escape." Wang Yao said firmly.

"Then both of you belt up and think of one." Arthur snapped at them. He folded an arm up, pressing his forearm across the top of his head in an effort to discourage the headache that was throbbing in time with his heartbeats. They went silent, so Arthur was able to listen to the labored scrape of his breaths, engines idling outside the window of their cell, and the distant echo of voices somewhere beyond the door.

As he lay there, Arthur admitted to himself that they were right. They needed to get out of the cell, to escape. He couldn't control his thoughts well enough. His mind was in chaos; Arthur was unable to find his composure at all. He'd been struggling to get his emotions managed yet kept fluctuating between grief, denial, rage and sorrow. Right now all of those feelings had blended together into one thick, twisting knot in his stomach. Arthur didn't want to keep his eyes closed too long – his imagination would vividly piece back together the memory of running towards spreading flames, knowing that he never did reach them in time.

When it had counted, he had failed America. Arthur's unhurt eye swept across the ceiling to light on the profile of Matthew's face. The young man was gazing distantly out the window as if watching some fascinating image. Arthur squeezed his eye shut. There was nothing that he could do for America – but perhaps there was still some use in him to at least help Canada.

Grunting as pain shrieked through his body, Arthur began clawing his way up to sit. He couldn't lie there and dwell. He couldn't give in to defeat. They needed a plan and lying there wallowing pathetically would not get results. Matthew touched him gingerly on the back to offer Arthur some support as the Englishman sat up with them. "We need to define what our advantages and disadvantages are. If we can figure out what we can use to gain the upper-hand then that will help us develop an appropriate plan for escape."

"They see us as hostages with value. That's in our favor." Matthew said quietly.

"We are horribly outnumbered and without any weapons to defend ourselves." Wang Yao countered. "Two negatives, aru."

"The Commander is obsessed with figuring out our secrets." Arthur murmured. "He was so determined to catch us that he followed us right up to the brink of a nuclear zone."

Matthew sighed. "The three of us are injured. It will heal in a few hours, but right now we are in no condition for a physical confrontation. If they keep beating us up to try and get information out of us, then it is less likely that we'll even be able to recover."

"We tried to sneak out through the window but none of us can get the bars to move." Arthur added.

"So… a physical confrontation is out. Fighting our way through all of these soldiers is also impossible. All that we have is our perceived value in the eyes of the Commander and the information that he wants to know but we haven't told him." Wang Yao summarized with a frown. "Those don't exactly leave us with any good conditions for any type of plan."

"What if we just tell him the truth about us?" Matthew suggested. He earned an irked glare from Arthur, while Wang Yao stared at him as if he were some exotic insect. "I'm serious. If we make him understand our true worth than perhaps we can persuade him to at least speak with us in a less secured location. He'll understand that our value far exceeds what he'd initially thought."

The Canadian leapt to his feet, starting to pace the cell. "He is obviously a man that enjoys power. Our escape that last time challenged his power – that's probably why he became so obsessed with catching us. So imagine what it would mean to him knowing that he has in his possession not just three foreigners, but true foreign _nations_."

"Matthew does have a valid point." Arthur murmured thoughtfully. He gripped his chin thoughtfully. "It is really our only bargaining chip in this situation and by far our strongest asset if we want to improve our chances."

Wang Yao scoffed. "How do you intend to _prove_ it to the Commander, though? If we simply reveal our true identities to him then he may simply decide that we are insane and do away with us."

"I'll think of something." Matthew promised him. He went to the door, banging a fist against it to get the attention of the guards outside.

"_What do you want?"_ One of the men asked him as they approached the door. They could hear the soldier cocking his weapon as a precaution.

Matthew answered him tersely. "_We are prepared to talk. Tell your Commander to come."_

The soldier hesitated, before he barked out an order to another. They could hear the sound of booted feet marching away. Matthew moved clear of the door, returning to where the other two were seated. The Canadian impressed Arthur, who spoke to the younger man. "I had forgotten that you spoke any Russian."

"Alaska was part of me once. Before Russia went and stole it." Matthew reminded him. "By the time he sold it off to America, the language had become part of me. I can't speak it as well as French, but it is familiar enough for me to understand and use in simple phrases."

Arthur made a musing sound. "I suppose there are several things that I just don't know about you."

"It isn't that you don't know them, it's the fact that you always forget." Matthew told him stiffly. The Canadian started to roll up one of his sleeves. "Of course, half the time you forget my _name_, so such a detail would be even easier for you to overlook, I'd imagine."

Matthew's words left Arthur feeling horrendously chided. He really had done a shoddy job where the Canadian was concerned; though he had done an equally shoddy job with America – Matthew had turned out well with Arthur ignoring him while Alfred had developed into an incredible nuisance. Thinking about America made Arthur's earlier grief come creeping back; he had to fight that down. "You're right. I need to work on that, don't I?"

"It's old hat by now." Matthew reassured him. They both glanced to the door when it swung open. Matthew stood up to draw the attention to him over the others.

The Commander came into their cell. He noted the battered appearance of Arthur, lingering on that sight for a few seconds before his pale eyes locked questioningly on Matthew. "You called for me, yes? My man mentioned something about you being prepared to speak with me."

"I am prepared to tell you everything. First, I want to give you a demonstration as proof of what I intend to share." Matthew told him matter-of-factly. The Canadian held out his bare arm. "Take your knife; cut my arm wherever you'd like. Return here in an hour and see what has happened to the wound – then I will reveal everything that you have wanted to know about us. In the meantime, order your men to stop beating Arthur. Is that acceptable?"

"You are asking me to injure you – then intend to tell me what I want to know, and all I have to do is stop allowing my men to rough up the Brit? It sounds like a fair exchange to me. For now." The Commander said in an amiable tone. He unsheathed his knife from his belt and approached Matthew. Wrapping his gloved fingers around the Canadian's wrist, he smiled at the young man. "It is not very often that people request for me to cause them to bleed. My interest is piqued even more now. I hope that your pain is worth it."

Matthew's teeth bared in a grimace as the Commander sliced a line in the flesh of his arm, crimson bubbling from the cut as his skin parted like a mouth gaping open. The Commander studied the young man's face as he drew the knife away, allowing the tip of it to dig into the raw nerve layers in an effort to make the Canadian cry out. Matthew's eyes fluttered rapidly with the pain of it. When he did not give the man what he was waiting for, the Commander tsked in disappointment, wiping the blood off his knife before sheathing it again. "I am pleasantly surprised. I have heard that the Canadian people are tough; I am happy to see it for myself."

Turning, he went to the door of the cell, one of the soldiers holding it open for him. "You have an hour, gentlemen. Then I expect for this mystery to be solved for me."

* * *

"What are they doing?"

"They're patrolling. Obviously." Ivan said darkly as the American asked him yet another stupid question. The boy still hadn't decided if the man did that because he was truly an idiot, or if he did it just to be an annoyance. Having caught glimpses of the American's intelligence in the past, Ivan had the feeling that it was the latter. An idiot would not have bested him for as long as America had during their little War.

Ivan was perched up on the American's shoulders. It allowed him to see the perimeter of the base better from that height. Since it was too far away for Alfred to see much of anything except a distant blur, the Russian boy was the one who had to examine the level of difficulty ahead of them by studying the operations of the base. He had to clamp his small hands down on Alfred's head when the American shifted his stance.

"Obviously." Alfred mimicked him mockingly, before shaking his head. "I meant what are they doing more specifically, moron. Are they alone or in pairs? Do they seem alert or are they relaxed? Does it seem like it will be easy to attack them or are we going to have to devise a plan? You know – the _important_ 'what are they doing' kinds of stuff."

"They are in pairs. It also appears that they are on full alert." Ivan told him. He did feel silly for not having guessed what the man had meant, yet in his defense it was hard to automatically give the American fool that much credit. "I expect that they have increased their security after it was so easy to sneak in the last time. It will not be easy to infiltrate."

"So the odds aren't in our favor." Alfred mumbled. He perked up. "Those are the kind of odds that I like!"

Ivan's eyes squinted. He'd been wrong. The American was an idiot after all. The boy kicked his feet a little. "Let me down. There is nothing else that I can see."

"Gladly. For being such a midget, you're heavy as hell." Alfred told him as he hefted the boy off his shoulders. He dangled Ivan thoughtfully at arm's length, the Russian boy kicking his feet as the American held him aloft. "It might be time for you to start dieting. Otherwise, you'll probably grow out instead of up."

"I can reach you with my knife from this distance, you know." Ivan reminded him sweetly. That encouraged the American to set him down on his feet without further hesitation. Ivan straightened his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles with his hands before angling his eyes up to Alfred's face. "So, what are your ideas, America? How do you intend to get in?"

"We don't have much choice. We'll need to determine what the most vulnerable patrol unit is and attempt to take them out. Once we manage that then I might be able to figure out a plan from that point." Alfred suggested.

Ivan nodded his agreement. "Then let me handle the patrol. Your gun will alert them that much faster that they are under attack."

"Agreed." Alfred nodded. He braced his hands on his hips with a smirk. "Who would have thought that you and I would ever be exhibiting signs of teamwork?"

Ivan pulled out his knife. The boy slid the pad of his thumb along its length to test the sharpness of the blade. Violet eyes dragged up belatedly, regarding the American from under a messy mop of pale hair. "Teamwork? I just don't want to run the risk of you messing everything up."

* * *

Matthew stood perfectly still as his arm was examined. The Commander's fingers pressed at the exposed flesh, leather denting it as he searched closely for any imperfections or indication that the cut had been there at all. He finally looked up the length of Matthew's arm to his face, pale eyes glittering. "Puzzling. I cut you myself, with my own knife. Yet there is not even any sign of a scar."

"And you…" He trailed off, turning his head to Arthur. "You were a mess when I last saw you. I doubt that you could even open your eye – now you don't look at all like you've been entertaining the frustrations of my soldiers. What is this… power?"

Matthew pulled his arm away as soon as it was freed. He coughed into a hand, adjusting his glasses on his face with a smooth motion. When he spoke, the Canadian sounded imperious. They'd been rehearsing what they were going to say for the last hour. Matthew just hoped that he could make it a convincing performance. "It is possible for us because of the creatures that we are. We are beings far superior to humans. You have seen for yourself the extent of our power – our ability to heal, withstanding the nuclear environment of China. That is just a taste of what we are capable of."

"I see…" The Commander considered his words. "Though how is it that such superior creatures such as you still managed to become captured by someone like me?"

Matthew began to falter at the question. Arthur cleared his throat to draw the Commander's attention. "That should be clear: We wanted you to capture us. We have had our eye on you for some time."

The Commander and Matthew both stared at him. The former with an eager stare, the latter quite confused as Arthur took the script in a whole different direction than planned. Arthur gestured regally through the air, hand rotating in fluid circles. "Our first brush with you was naturally just a test on our parts to judge if you were worthy enough for us to reveal our true selves to you. It just so happens that we gather from time to time with the intention of bestowing these powers on another. You were the one that we had selected."

"Me?" The Commander studied Arthur with interest.

It was clear that he wanted to believe the man's words; after all, he had seen for himself the proof that Matthew provided. Still, Arthur knew that it they were going to have to walk a fine line in order to maintain his belief in their words. Arthur had dealt with many power-hungry men in his lifetime, both as nations and as human leaders – they had become a predictable lot. "Did you not think it bizarre that we would surface somewhere as remote as the Russian winter landscape, surrounded by such unreasonable conditions, without some ultimate purpose?"

Thinking on Arthur's words, the Commander's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What about the American? I killed him, did I not?"

"Why don't you send some of your soldiers out to check?" Matthew suggested, which got him a look of warning from Arthur. "I'll bet that they won't even find him there."

The Commander nodded. "I intend to do so. In the meantime – I am very interested in hearing more about this… bestowment of power."

"These conditions are hardly suitable to continuing our discussion. It could take hours." Arthur raised his hands with a jangle of chains. "Let us move to a more inhabitable location and I will go into more detail. Details that…" His eyes flickered to the guards behind the Commander, "are meant for your ears alone."

It was the moment of truth. Either the Commander would take the bait, or they would be stuck here. Arthur held his breath as he waited for the tides to turn in one direction or the other. The man was staring at him intently, trying to strip whatever secrets Arthur's face might have revealed. At last the Commander nodded firmly. "Very well."

* * *

"Ah! There is a vehicle coming out." Ivan hissed quickly in disappointment. He was kneeling on the chest of one of the patrol guards, knife poised at the man's throat. They were too close to the road for him to continue with his efforts in peace.

Alfred kept his foot planted on the back of the other soldier's head. The man was flailing to get free, a hand slapping blindly at Alfred's leg to try and dislodge it. Alfred flashed a look of annoyance at the struggling soldier and dug his heel in further to sink the man's face that much deeper into the snow. It was taking forever to get him unconscious. "We'll have to drag them out of sight – do you think we'll have enough time?"

"No. No time." The boy shook his head. He scowled at the soldier that he'd already felled, knife glinting as Ivan sheathed it at his belt. "What a shame. I hate being interrupted in the middle of work."

"You know… just when I think that I've discovered every layer of morbid depth there is to you, Russia, you pull yet something even more fucked up out of your sleeve. I'd be impressed if I weren't so disturbed."

Ivan chuckled softly at the American's words. "I am not morbid; that is probably just your old paranoia talking from back in the days where you thought I was hiding under your bed or in your closet. It always was an immense pleasure to be your boogeyman." The boy slid off the soldier onto his feet with a glance to the road. "We digress from the situation at hand. I have a plan."

Alfred had been reluctant to have to hurt the soldier under his foot. Now there was no other option. With a sigh, he cocked his foot back and stomped down hard. The sound of the approaching vehicle drowned out whatever noise there might have been. It did stop the man from flailing around, though. Alfred made a face as he removed his foot – he probably overdid it. "…What's your plan?"

Minutes later, the headlights of the military van flashed across the road, highlighting a body that lay out in the middle of it. Upon seeing it, the driver slammed on the brakes so that the van squealed to a stop a few feet away from the obstruction. He spoke quickly to the other soldier in the passenger seat, pointing his attention to the figure in front of them. The gears ground as the driver put the van into a parked mode.

Opening up the passenger door, the soldier slid out from that side with his rifle in hand. He approached the body slowly, calling out to it in Russian. When there wasn't any response, the man walked up to the fallen figure. It was nudged with the barrel of his rifle. The body didn't have a military uniform on so it couldn't have been one of their men. In fact, the corpse was dressed rather strangely in clothes that appeared to be of Western fashion.

The soldier turned back to the glare of the headlights with a shrug. He blinked as he saw a small, shadowed figure drop down onto the top of the cab. Silver flashed through the air of the opened window of the driver's side, half a scream of pain audible to the soldier outside before it choked off in a bubbled gurgle. With a bellow of alarm, the soldier hefted his rifle towards the attacking shadow.

Something slammed into the back of his leg before he could fire the shot. He was brought down with the force behind the hit, rifle clattering on the gravel road. As the soldier reached for it, another harsh blow rocketed into the back of his head. He pitched over in a heap on the road, bent awkwardly over the weapon.

Alfred finished brushing gravel off his clothes from where he'd been playing possum. He crouched down to pull the rifle out from under the soldier, giving the weapon a critical study to see if it was worth keeping or not. All in all, it had been a pretty good plan on Ivan's part. Though he doubted that the Russian would have been too upset if they had just gone and run him over. Alfred shoved the man so that he rolled onto his back. As he began to paw through the man's pockets, he looked up at the van with a frown.

"Ivan! He's dead by now. Stop fucking around."

"Da…" The Russian made it sound like he was some kind of spoilsport. Ivan did yank his knife out from inside the van. Blood fanned in an arch that splattered the side of the vehicle as the boy retrieved his weapon. He slid down from the top of the van, feet dangling as Ivan tried to find his footing on the hood below. The boy hopped down onto the gravel as his scarf billowed behind him. "Help me get the driver out. We will use his clothes to clean the van so that you can drive it back without raising suspicion."

"It wouldn't have been such a mess if you had killed him with a little more finesse." Alfred growled at him. He abandoned the soldier on the road so that he could go to the van. Pulling open the door, the American grimaced at the mess that Ivan had made with his knife. In order to prevent more blood from seeping into the seat, Alfred gripped the dead soldier by the fabric on his shoulder, dragging him out of the vehicle with negligent care. He dropped the corpse aside with little attention paid to how it landed, surveying the seat.

"Jesus. Everything is coated in here – it looks like some kind of scene from a cheap splatter house movie." Alfred snapped his fingers as he noticed Ivan sneaking off towards the other soldier, pointing forbiddingly at the boy. "Don't even think about it! You are helping me clean this mess up, you little bastard."

Ivan tried to look offended. On such a boyish face, it merely came off as pouting. "I was only going to check that he was unconscious. You don't need to shout." Grumbling under his breath, the boy lumbered beside the dead driver. He begun to pluck off the metal buttons of the soldier's jacket to get it opened. The dark blue fabric was stained darker in the front, but some sections of the uniform were still salvageable for use. Ivan cleaned off his knife with a fold of the cloth. The boy began to cut off thick strips for them to clean with while Alfred walked over to the unconscious man.

"Don't ruin his uniform." Ivan called to him just in time before the American started to tear the coat. "You will need it intact for the next stage of the plan."

Alfred blinked, having the unconscious soldier dangling from his grip. "Um. Next stage? You didn't tell me that there was a second stage. What are we doing next?"

Ivan's face slowly lifted from his work. He smiled brightly at the American. "That depends. Is your Russian still any good, or did you give up on it when you stopped spying on me after the War?"

"I can read it. I could never catch on with speaking it or understanding it when it was spoken at me. That's what we paid the translators for." Alfred admitted with a shrug. "Why?"

Ivan's smile stretched into a Cheshire grin. "Take off his uniform. I'll explain the rest when we're done."

* * *

**A/N:** An interesting tidbit on what posting cliffhangers does to your karma: Two hours after posting the last installment, a construction crew nearby severed the cable for my internet. I had to go without internet for a week until they got it fixed. It just goes to show that a writer should _never post cliffhangers_.

Also - anyone else disturbed by the image of Russia hiding under their bed? I suppose that it wouldn't be unpleasant... but the 'kolkolkol' in the middle of the night might get creepy.

I envision Arthur as being such a stickler for cleanliness from the boys. It's a wonder that Alfred didn't develop O.C.D.

_Alfred, washing his hands for the fiftieth time: "It's not obsessive; it's just good habits!"_

Yeah...

P.S. I have been plotting ahead on some new story ideas, including a somewhat-sequel to _FtA. _I'm still debating if they're going to come to life or not. Anyone feel like getting bombarded with some bare story concepts to let me know if they have potential? (This is what happens when I have only myself to make decisions - I am terribly indecisive. It's a flaw.)


	16. Chapter 16

I'm still alive. This update came far, far too tardy for my liking. Unfortunately, work struggles, health struggles and life struggles gave me a bad case of Writer's Block. Too bad they don't make creams to fix that.

Thank you very much to those who were patiently waiting on me. I will try not to let you down. And for those of you who have been following my other multi-chapter fiction _WC: AP_, my goal is to continue that as well. Now _From the Ashes_ can finally move towards it rightful conclusion - several months later. And thanks to those of you who continued to pester me and review. Those encouragements helped me find the focus I needed to see this through.

I hope that the wait does not leave you disappointed. And hopefully my writer's voice is still in this work. Guh.

* * *

The military truck came rumbling up to the gate of the temporary base of the Russian unit. Its headlights flashed at the guards that were posted. One of the soldiers walked up to the driver's side of the cab, squinting into the darkened interior of the vehicle. He frowned at the blond, young man seated behind the wheel. _"You're late."_

"_I… got lost."_ The driver stuttered awkwardly after a pause, grimacing under the brim of his hat.

With a snort, the soldier gave him a harsh glare. _"Stupid rookies. Did you actually manage to find the American's body?"_

"_No. No luck. My fortunate self was without largeness."_ The driver muttered. He winced inexplicably right after speaking, blinking a few times as his tense smile lingered. _"Can I go now?"_

Shaking his head at the lack of intelligence out of the other soldier, the guard stepped away from the door. He made a signal to those on the opposite side of the gate, broad doors swinging open so that the vehicle could be driven in. When the way was clear, the driver nodded gratefully, his hand lifting in a brief salute before the military van was put into gear so that it could pull forward into the compound.

As soon as they were through, Alfred's shoulders deflated with a sigh of relief. "That was easier than I thought it would be." He let his face tilt down so that he could glare at the boy curled up near his legs, nudging Ivan harshly with the side of his foot. "What the hell did you hit me for, anyway? I'm sure I made perfect sense in a roundabout way."

"You violate my language. I acted out of offense, more than anything." Ivan answered with a shrug. He braced a hand against the bottom of the dash, violet eyes watching the play of the overhead lights streak past them as Alfred drove the vehicle deeper into the complex. "We should find a place to park that is inconspicuous, so that I can get out without drawing attention."

"Not drawing attention is going to be difficult. This place is packed." Alfred told him as the American gazed out the windshield, squinting his eyes to strain them as much as they would allow him. "The others could be in any one of these buildings. I don't see how we're going to be able to search them without someone noticing us poking around."

Ivan hummed thoughtfully. "You are covered. So long as you keep your mouth shut, you could pass for one of my people. I am small and getting around will not be too hard. Once we have parked, it would be best to split up to locate our comrades."

"Right. Got it." Alfred pulled them up beside one of the outlying buildings. The lights were not as strong here so it would improve Ivan's chances of getting out of the van unnoticed. He turned off the engine and started to make a quick inventory of his arsenal. Alfred slid his gun out of his holster, checking the chamber with a precision borne of extensive practice with firearms. Satisfied that he would be well equipped enough to do some damage if it came to a fight, Alfred checked his reflection in the mirror.

As he pulled the brim of his hat lower over his face to shadow it, Alfred asked his companion cheerfully, "Any pointers on how I can seem more convincingly Russian?"

"Da." Ivan appraised him quickly. "Don't talk. Don't smile. Try not to walk around with a stupid expression on your face like usual. In fact – it would probably be best if you altered your normal mannerisms completely and behaved more like England."

Alfred blinked at his image. "So… I should walk around here like I have a stick up my ass? Great. That shouldn't be too hard." He pulled open the door, pausing on his way out to glance at Ivan. "Just be careful. I don't think we're going to find as much luck from here on out."

Silver glinted as Ivan removed his dagger from the sheath at his wrist. He blinked up at Alfred with wide, round, innocent eyes as if not understanding the warning. "Russia is always careful. We will meet back here if we are successful. One hour."

"Agreed." Alfred nodded at the plan. Then, he schooled his face to appear as non-charming as possible. The American searched around his immediate location to see if he was being watched. It was all clear, so he hurried away from the vehicle at a casual pace to begin searching for the others that were stowed somewhere in the compound.

* * *

The three of them had been brought into what appeared to be a private dining area for the use of the Commander his top officers. There were chairs lined down the length of the table that dominated the center of the room, four of which were currently occupied by the three nations and their human captor. Arthur sat rigidly in the one closest to the Commander. Soldiers had been moving in and out of the room, bringing with them dishes that had been prepared for their enjoyment. The Commander smiled at the spread that was brought in, reaching out to unfold his napkin from where it sat on the table. "I hope that you gentlemen approve of this little feast. Considering the good news of our impending discussion, I ordered the chefs to prepare something more decadent than the usual."

"I'm sure that it will be lovely." Arthur murmured pleasantly. His eyes shifted to the other two, seeing that Matthew and Wang Yao appeared to have no interest whatsoever in the food. It wasn't like he himself was hungry either. He hadn't had anything remotely close to an appetite since the day before. Still, the Englishman moved more out of habit than anything, spreading his napkin across his lap with precise motions.

Once the soldiers had left the room, the four of them were given some privacy. The Commander started to dig into the food right away, seeming oblivious to their discomfort. Arthur watched him eat for a few minutes before delicately serving himself some food with a warning glance to the others. Matthew stared at the food with a mildly sullen expression. The Canadian was doing little to conceal his unhappiness with their situation, even if it had improved.

Speaking around his food, the Commander broke his silence to address them all. "So. What exactly will be required to perform this ceremony to make me immortal like you? Is there some sort of trial that will take place, a test that I must pass before it is completed?"

"There are no tests." Arthur shook his head. Lifting his fork from the table, he began to poke at the food that he'd put on his plate. Having it there gave him an excuse in the event that his thoughts began to scramble in attempting to keep up with the deception; if some question left him stumped, he had the excuse of taking in a bite of food. "It is a very simple process that will require little energy on all our parts. Mainly, it will involve seeing how far you are willing to go to become like us."

"I am quite ready." The Commander told him firmly. "If it means that I will be immortal then I am prepared to do whatever is necessary. This power of yours is something that I want."

While Arthur and the Commander discussed the terms of the impending 'ceremony', Matthew's face shadowed as he felt a sudden tug. He peeked at the others, seeing that neither of them had felt it yet. The Canadian curled a hand up over his heart as he felt that tug pulling at him stronger and stronger. It did not alarm him. In fact, it had the complete opposite effect. He knew this feeling because it had been tugging at him constantly for centuries whenever there was so much as a stirring down in the south.

He reached his hand over and placed it upon Arthur's forearm, interrupting his conversation with the Commander. "Arthur…" Matthew paused, eyes shifting to the Commander. If he did not speak carefully then it was likely that he would give too much away. And as much as Arthur liked to pretend that he didn't understand a word of the language, Matthew whispered to him in French. "Arthur, il est ici." _He is here._

The Englishman was immediately scowling at the use of the language. He registered the words that Matthew had spoken after making a translation in his head, focusing his emerald gaze intently on the Canadian. "…Q-quoi?" _What?_

"Je peux le sentir." _I can feel him._ Matthew informed him in a rush. The Canadian's eyes had grown slightly wider as he gazed distantly around them.

The Commander frowned at this exchange. "What was that? What did he say?"

"Ah…" Arthur tore his eyes from Matthew and fixed them back on the Commander. "He was just mentioning something that I had forgotten to tell you. Our Canadian comrade was correcting me on a tidbit of information that I'd left out."

"I see." The Commander's pale eyes drifted from one man to the other. He relaxed once satisfied that they weren't up to some deception, returning to his food with renewed interest. "Tell me again about this… you said it was a 'Conference'?"

* * *

In hindsight, Ivan decided that he could have thought out his stage of the plan better. Not that any of the steps had been executed with any flaws – the Russian boy had infiltrated the complex without raising any alarms, alerting any guards, or leaving any evidence to warn them that he was even there. His plan was golden. If he were the sort of person to give praise, Ivan would have given himself a pat on the back for such success.

It wasn't until he found himself dangling over the edge of the roof, feet kicking uselessly in the air to try and find some leverage, that Ivan understood at what point of his extensive planning the entire plot was unraveling. He had gone forward without considering the fact that what might have worked for him before the international fiasco could not help him now; Ivan was too short, the rifle strapped to his back was too heavy, and his arm was still killing him from the earlier accident. The boy had been perhaps too eager to proceed and had not taken all factors into account. Ivan twisted his head to look down at the ground far below him, at the freshly packed snow, and briefly entertained the thought of what could potentially happen to one of his bones if he dropped from this height. Probably nothing. He was a resilient nation.

He just didn't want to sacrifice all the work that it had taken to get this high. His goal – the roof – was right there just a foot away from his head. Ivan did not want to have to start all over from scratch. Grunting, he kicked at the side of the building with booted feet, trying to find purchase, and felt a sliver of triumph when the surface of his shoes found enough friction to push himself up with. The boy put most of his weight on his good arm, using the other mostly to maintain balance as he hauled himself up that last patch of distance, resting heavily on the lip of the roof once he had cleared the eaves. Mission accomplished.

So long as he kept on the roofs, his chances of being detected had slimmed down considerably. Ivan would only need to avoid being seen by any soldiers on the ground or those who had been posted at the makeshift guard towers stationed around the perimeter. He would maintain the higher position in his search for the others, while the American made a direct infiltration on the ground. It was an elementary plan, but Ivan loved it all the same for its simplicity. Even in the event that the plan failed and Alfred was captured, at least the Russian would get to enjoy some time picking off soldiers before they eventually discovered him as well. Ivan decided that he'd have been fine with the trade.

Ivan kept low to the rooftop as he scurried over it. He was guided by the strong pull of the collected nations, curious to see how difficult rescuing them would be. Undoubtedly they were being held in some form. There were four distinct pulses on his international radar; everyone appeared to still be alive. That was a good sign at the very least. Ivan did not want to have to carry anyone out in a condition of recharging from a state of death.

The boy was drawn to the sound of speaking voices. One in his native dialect and the easily placed lilt of British joined together in conversation. England was speaking with someone. This didn't surprise Ivan, considering how much the Englishman loved to talk. He was nearly as opinionated as the American, in the Russian's opinion, just usually less loud. Usually.

Seeing lights filtering out through a set of screened windows, Ivan crouched down to lean towards the glass so that he could see down into the room below. He saw the three captured nations seated at a long table with the Commander. The warm yellow glow of the interior lights bathed him in soft color as the Russian got comfortable on the other side of the glass, tilting his ear in so that he could overhear what they were discussing.

"…though we hardly accomplish anything in them. It's more just a formality these days, considering how difficult it is to move forward on matters of business with so many of us in one place. Now that several were killed in the destruction that devastated the world, perhaps it will finally allow us to get things done."

"And who's position will I be filling?" The Commander asked curiously. Ivan could hear the undertone of exhilaration in the human man's voice.

He frowned when England began to talk again, not liking the conversation topic in the slightest. The Englishman folded his hands together in front of his plate, considering the man's question. "I suppose that you could take the place left vacant by our comrade from Russia. Certainly you know the level of destruction that this nation suffered; we were sad to see him go. Our Russian friend was quite the powerhouse. That is why we thought that you would make a fitting replacement."

Ivan narrowed his eyes as he felt a surge of indignant anger at England's words. It was impossible to know if the Englishman were speaking as some form of deception or if he was genuinely interested in seeing Russia replaced. Considering their history in the past, Ivan felt that it was probably a little of both. The boy shook himself free of this irritation of what England had said so that he could return his attention to the plan. All that he needed was the signal from America.

The Russian boy tensed as the door downstairs opened. Holding his breath as he went motionless, Ivan shifted the weight of his rifle as he recognized the figure that came stepping into the room to interrupt the course of the conversation happening below. It was just in time too. Ivan had been feeling some temptation to accidentally sniper England with a stray bullet just to express his displeasure.

* * *

Getting into the place was easier than Alfred had expected. Most of the soldiers were too immersed in their duties or in conversation with one another to notice him moving amongst them. The American tried to follow Ivan's suggestions as best he could - unsmiling, serious and composed. Now and then Alfred had to bite back a grin when his excitement sought to overwhelm him. He had to nip hard on his lower lip just to keep his face under control. It wasn't that he found anything about the situation humorous. But knowing that he was walking amongst these hostile Russians without alerting any of them to his true identity left Alfred feeling that much cooler.

Once inside, it wasn't hard to locate where the others were being kept. He let himself be drawn by the subtle tug of their energies. Fate or luck had to have been on their side because it seemed that they had all three been gathered together into some single location. Rescuing the trio in one move rather than having to storm the entire complex to find everyone was going to make the mission ten times easier. Except for the fact that Alfred still wasn't sure precisely how they were going to escape. That was going to take some major improvisation.

Alfred paused to listen at the door and heard voices speaking inside. He could pick Arthur's voice easily through the barrier. The Englishman was addressing someone else with that formal business tone that Arthur always used when he wanted something to turn out in his favor. Alfred could not determine how many other hostile forces might have been inside the room. Walking into a room full of silent Russians armed with impressive guns wasn't the ideal situation to step in on. He would need to work fast once he went in.

There was no way to know if Ivan had gotten into place or not. Alfred found himself having to put his trust in the Russian; that was definitely hard to do. Counting on Ivan to help cover his ass seemed like some ironic joke. If the Russian didn't follow through with the plan then everything was going to end up going to hell. While Alfred was not much of a religious man, he still felt compelled to say a small, silent prayer as he put his hand on the doorknob, holding his breath as he turned it to press open the door.

The conversation in the room cut off as Alfred slipped in and quietly closed the door behind him. The Commander was seated at the head of the table, not recognizing the American right off as the uniform left him both confused as well as irked by the interruption. Alfred's eyes moved around long enough to get a visual check on Matthew to make sure that his brother was all right, seeing the same for Wang Yao at a glance. He became snared when the sweep of his blue eyes locked upon green ones.

Arthur's face was stamped openly with astonishment, mouth still open from where the Englishman had been speaking. The Brit's jaw dropped further at seeing Alfred standing there in some Russian uniform. His eyes, swollen open wide in his shock, looked deep enough for Alfred to fall right in. Alfred couldn't help a small grin in the face of Arthur's surprise even as his hand was reaching back blindly behind him to twist the lock on the interior of the door. "Looks like I've arrived just in time to stage a heroic rescue."

The scene dissolved into a sudden rush of action. Matthew was moving abruptly from his place at the table and quickly clapped a hand over the Commander's mouth as the Russian was gathering air into his lungs to call for his men. With quick thinking and quicker motions, the Canadian had the military man falling back in his chair to go spilling down on the floor. Both Wang Yao and Arthur stood up from their own places at the table to watch as Matthew efficiently grappled the Commander down to pin the man on the floor of the dining room.

Alfred listened near the door but didn't hear any sign of activity from the hallway outside. So far things were going according to plan. The American stepped away as he heard the muffled sounds of the Commander, feeling some surprise with how well his brother had managed to get the man under control. Matthew's dinner napkin from the table was stuffed into the man's mouth to keep him quiet. Alfred patted his sibling on the shoulder to show just how impressed he was. "Good job, Mattie! Just keep him down and quiet until we can figure out what to do with him."

When he turned away, Alfred found Arthur standing right there behind him. The Englishman was glowering, openly displeased. As Alfred leaned in closer to examine the island nation he could still see some traces of abuse on those familiar features. His hand lifted up to touch the ball of his thumb to one of the Brit's thick eyebrows where a fading bruise still lingered just below the surface of pale skin. "You don't look too bad off. For a prisoner."

"And you look half decent for a dead man." Arthur intoned in a low growl, though whatever resentful anger he'd tried to muster to present the American with a lecture had disintegrated the moment that he'd felt the contact of that warm touch. There was just a flood of relief while he impressed with green eyes what he wouldn't dare speak through his lips. Alfred smiled and removed his hand.

The message wasn't lost in transmission.

Taking off the stolen hat, Alfred tossed it onto the dinner table amongst the forgotten food and abandoned plates. "Ivan is supposed to be meeting us. Getting out of here is going to be difficult. This place is crawling with hostiles."

They all looked sharply upwards as there came a sound of breaking glass, the four nations growing tense with alarm. Shards of it littered down onto the table from above in a shower of glimmering light. Following down quickly behind it was Ivan. The Russian boy landed on the table with a flare of his coat and scarf, rifle in hand as he caught himself in a crouch. Ivan shook himself off to remove more clinging glass and crunching more if it beneath his boots as he straightened up with a petulant frown at the others. "Why did we decide to replace Russia?"

Alfred looked irked with the Russian's method of entrance. The American reached up and plucked the boy down from the table with annoyance on his face. "Get over it. That's the least thing you should be worried about. We need to figure out what to do with your pesky citizen." Planting Ivan on the floor next to the Commander they all shifted their focus to the mortal amongst them.

China had perched himself on the edge of the table to rest his remaining limbs from the burden of supporting his weight. He appraised the Commander with a passive expression. "Trying to use him as a negotiation tool is too risky, aru. There is no guarantee that his men would not simply kill him to prevent our using him as a hostage. And I doubt that there is much value in taking him with us."

"Leaving him behind is too much of a risk." Arthur added in a deliberately neutral tone. "We clearly made an error in doing so the first time. And until there is some better guarantee of having reached safe territory then he will undoubtedly continue to pursue us." His mouth thinned out, lips pressing together.

Ivan weaved his way amongst their taller forms so that he could stand more directly in front of the Commander. He made a signal to Matthew to let the Canadian know to back off a little, aiming his rifle down at the mortal man in clear warning what would happen if the Russian made any unwanted motion. "Take the gag from his mouth, Canada. We should ask him for suggestions as well, da? That seems only fair." Bending in when Matthew did not move fast enough, Ivan gripped onto the end of that wadded napkin and started to pluck it towards him, tone sweet and reasonable. "The little man knows better than to call for his men. He should realize how angry that would make Russia."

The Commander's pale eyes were intent on Ivan, transfixed as he watched the pale boy removing the blockage from his mouth. He stayed silent with the barrel of that rifle still so near to his head. Ivan let the soiled thing fall to the ground at his feet as he arched his head far to the side so that he could smile pleasantly down at the captive man. "I see that I have your attention, little man. My friends are having a difficult time deciding what to do with you it seems. You have caused us all much trouble. What would you do with such a nuisance?"

Ivan received no answer. The Commander continued to stare at him in stunned silence. Then, slowly, the man's voice left him at an awed whisper. "Is it true? Are you … Russia? Or was it all a lie?"

"Nyet. It was no lie." Shaking his head slowly back and forth, Russia held his smile for the Commander's benefit. "I am Russia – though I used to be much bigger, before all of this."

Matthew sensed that he was no longer needed to hold the man in place. He relented his hold, stepping off from where he'd been keeping the Commander there on the floor, in order to join Arthur and Alfred since the pair were standing some few feet away to give Russia some space to address his native. The Canadian's eyes met Arthur's briefly to impress some concern over where this might be leading. Whenever Ivan was involved, things tended to operate on a more maverick basis.

"Will I not be receiving this power then?" The Commander asked him just as quietly, tension in his voice in knowing just how close he might have been to death.

Ivan shook his head again and laughed boyishly. "There is no power to give to mortals like you. We are born this way and we die this way. Humans can never become what we are. England is so very convincing with his lies, isn't he?"

From nearby, Arthur bristled. It was difficult to know whether that was a compliment or an insult. He prompted the Russian nation. "We're running low on time. If we are going to make an escape, we need to do it soon before our element of stealth is lost to us."

"So impatient." Ivan's violet eyes moved to where the Englishman was standing so that the boy could narrow them, the edges of his smile fading. "I will decide on our course of action then, hm?"

The boy dropped his face down in front of the Commander's again to give him instructions. "You will call two of your men in here. Only two. They will be dealt with and their uniforms taken. We will take you with us until we have secured safe passage out. And we would be most pleased if a transport could be provided for us since you so rudely destroyed our last one. If at any time you manage to blow this escape…" Ivan's smile blossomed again. "…I will be the one to kill you."

* * *

Arthur felt most at home in a uniform. More certain than he would be even in a business suit. There was something about the formality of military dress that bolstered his confidence and made him feel a shred more invulnerable. He finished with the last of the buttons before glancing to where Alfred was standing guard over the soldiers that they had rendered unconscious. The Englishman grew conscious of the fact that Alfred was staring at him, raising a questioning eyebrow at the American. "What is it?"

"You make wearing an enemy uniform look so effortless." Alfred shrugged. "Have you done it often?"

"A countless number of times." Arthur replied as he finished tugging everything into the correct fit. The soldier his uniform had come from had been taller, fuller, and so there wasn't a proper fit to the garments. It was close enough to be functional. "When you become a nation prized for your spy network one of the first things you learn how to do is blend in with the enemy. I have worn the colors of my enemies on occasions where it seemed necessary to do so."

With some vague noise, Alfred turned away back to his duty of watching the unconscious men, while Matthew stayed close at hand with his own borrowed uniform on. Wang Yao was going to draw attention regardless if the man had a disguise or not. They decided that keeping him in his normal attire and behaving like a prisoner would be enough of a subterfuge to convince the other soldiers that they were legitimate. Having the Commander with them would also draw notice but so long as they could keep the man under their control then their path to escape would be relatively free of trouble.

Arthur gathered up the weapons that they had confiscated from one of the soldiers. The guns did not have much in the way of ammunition. Apparently these troops on the interior of the complex lacked the same level of firepower that the outside compatriots held. Getting outside of the building was going to be simpler for that reason. Making it the rest of the way out to safety was going to be the treacherous part. The Englishman divided them up amongst the three of them in uniform while China stood nearby. Ivan was focused entirely on the Commander, his rifle held unwaveringly at the human man.

The first one near the door was Matthew. He listened quietly with an ear pressed to the wood, then pulled it open a crack to glance around in the hallway. Drawing in, the Canadian nodded firmly to the rest of them. "Everything looks clear so far. Are we ready?"

"Ready as we're gonna get." Alfred said tensely. The American had become focused into that grimly determined state as he checked the chambers of the guns he'd been given by Arthur to get an inventory of how many bullets each one afforded him. "Let's go. Mattie and me will take the front. China, Ivan and this Soviet nut will walk in the center so we can keep him guarded. Arthur – you'll take up the back and cover us. Objections?"

For a change, Alfred's plan actually made sense. Arthur was too busy marveling over the lack of unreasonable suggestion to provide any protest. Instead, he took the safety of his handguns before holstering them with a curt nod towards Alfred. "I've got it. We move at your signal, Alfred."

They left the dining room once everyone had finished double-checking their arsenal. The Commander remained quiet amongst them, though his face was pinched into one of utter resentment for his situation. There was little else for him to do when Ivan was walking so close to him. Russia had reluctantly entrusted his rifle over to Canada, left with just his combat knife that he kept firmly directed against the Commander's ribs as they walked along together. Arthur took a few spare moments to twist the lock on the interior of the door before pulling it shut behind them. The last thing that they needed was for anyone to discover the mess and unconscious men they had left inside.

Matthew fell into their point position. The Canadian was able to communicate more easily with the Russians that they encountered than Alfred's own stammering attempts at the language. Arthur kept an alert focus directed around them with a few subtle shifts of his eyes. No one seemed to pay much interest to their group aside from the men who straightened up to crisply salute their Commander. While the Englishman could not see the Commander's face from where he walked behind the human, none of the other soldiers seemed to respond with any sense of alarm, so it seemed that the man was not trying to impress anything about the situation to these other soldiers.

Everything was going so smoothly. These were the times where Arthur felt most on his guard.

Once they reached the outside, Ivan gave a subtle prod to the Commander. The boy whispered a terse question. "Where are your transports? You will lead us there now."

"Over here." The Commander answered with an edge of pain in his voice. Arthur wondered if that knife had bit into the man's flesh by now. It seemed unlikely that Ivan would be too careful about avoiding cutting the Commander with his knife. "We keep them across the main yard." He lifted a hand to point off in the opposite direction from where they stood.

Arthur squinted across the distance. It seemed too open, too far a span. He opened his mouth to suggest that they seek some other avenue to reach the location but Ivan was already prodding the Commander along. The Englishman shook his head slightly at Russia's impatience. Ivan had always been one take the most direct path to reach his goals and wasted little time on the finer aspects of strategy. It got faster results yet was always more risky.

As they crossed the yard in the direction of the garages, Arthur made quick calculations of the amount of troops around them. There were many armed soldiers out here. Many of them were patrolling the yard, while even more were moving about conducting tasks. Those numbers started to make the Englishman's hackles begin to rise as his instincts began to prickle at his spine more severely. Arthur picked up his pace so that he could leave his position at the rear of their group, heading to the front to speak with America. "Alfred, wait. There's something not right here. I can't shake the feeling that somehow we are being led right into a tra—"

The Commander's voice rang out sharply behind them. "Enemies! Attack these intruders! Do not let them escape—grah!"

Both Arthur and Alfred whirled around as the man's voice cut off into some agonized gargle. Time enough to see the Commander's body where it was folding up over the hilt of Ivan's combat knife. The boy's violet eyes were glittering balefully as he gave another upward shove of the blade, then jerked it violently free as the Commander went toppling to the snow-covered ground beneath their feet.

As the man's body continued to twitch where it had fallen, Arthur was already moving, urgently shoving Wang Yao towards Alfred and Matthew with both hands. "Go, go! To the cover of the garage!"

He yanked out his handgun, giving the others time to make some progress as the Englishman opened fire on the first cluster of soldiers that were running in their direction towards their fallen Commander. There was no way that he had enough bullets in the guns on him to cut down this whole camp of soldiers. If they could somehow safely get to one of the transports then there was still some slim chance of escape. With these odds, Arthur wondered how many of them would be able to get out safely.

There was a sudden flare of pain in his left shoulder. Arthur winced as he felt the burn that followed and shifted the aim of his gun to fire upon the soldier that had managed to strike him. He heard Matthew shout his name yet couldn't take his focus off the incoming attackers in order to glance in the Canadian's direction. Alfred's voice carried louder than his brother's above the noise of the shots being fired. "Arthur! Goddamnit, we're clear – get over here!"

Hands pulled at him as Arthur peddled backwards, and he didn't even need to look to surmise that it was Alfred pulling him up into the vehicle just from the effortless nature of the American's strength. Arthur grunted in pain as his momentum carried him enough to slam that injured shoulder into the backing of a seat and that collision sent a surge of pain through him intense enough to leave the Englishman dizzied. He was able to catch a glimpse of Matthew searching through the front of the vehicle with frantic hands until finally locating the keys in the top flap. Then Alfred was shifting him again like a weightless doll, and Arthur was fighting not to drop his gun as he growled warningly at the American. "Stop swinging me around you git! I can't fire like this!"

Alfred acknowledged the words as he got Arthur righted up again. This allowed the island nation to take aim again towards the soldiers firing on them. He managed to pick a few off with true, focused aim before the vehicle began to move. Arthur swayed off balance as Matthew spun the transport around, Wang Yao hanging on in the passenger seat next to the Canadian as their vehicle made a quick arch around. Ivan growled some complaint as his smaller figure went tumbling over itself across the middle seat and he lifted his face up from the leather to frown up towards where Matthew was spinning the wheel in the other direction as fast as it would go to put the more heavily fortified side of the transport in the line of fire.

The Russian soldiers were faster. Even while the Canadian was moving the transport towards the escape route of that front gate, other motorized patrols were swarming around them. Arthur craned his head back and forth to take in the surrounding forces from where Alfred had wedged him against his chest to prevent the Englishman from falling over or out. His eyes darkened as he frowned; the slim ray of hope that they might escape from here eclipsing with this new addition to the hostile forces against them.

Arthur caught Alfred's attention, the American squinting up towards his face while the elder nation made a subtle shake of his head.

It was game over.

Up in the driver's seat, Matthew seemed to realize their dilemma as well. He slammed on the brakes and they coasted to a stop over the ice and snow that blanketed the ground. The Canadian's eyes darted out through the windshield as he saw the other vehicles moving towards them, casting an apologetic look to the rearview mirror. "Everybody should probably get down as low as they can, before they start opening fire."

"We can't go out like this!" Alfred protested. He squeezed his arm where it still held onto Arthur, looking up to the other man for reassurance. "We've come too far – heroes don't get killed by the bad guys in the end. Right, Arthur? …Arthur?"

Keeping his eyes deliberately averted from the American, Arthur stared grimly out at the forces closing in on them and said nothing. Soon enough, he heard the sigh of resignation from Alfred and the weight of the man's head thumping down against his uninjured arm. Arthur softened just a fraction. He lifted his hand to rest against the American's gritty, unwashed hair, a gesture older than much of history and yet still familiar. His voice was low when he spoke down to that lowered head. "Sorry, old boy. It looks like we're stuck with the bad ending."

There was movement from the front of the vehicle. Arthur caught it out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head in that direction and saw that Wang Yao was twisting around in the passenger seat, the man straining to look beyond where the Russians had closed around them in a circle of menace. Curious at what Wang Yao might have been looking for, Arthur's head tilted with a frown. "What is it?"

"I think someone is coming, aru." Wang Yao informed him in a tense voice. His remaining arm gripped hold of the back of his seat to drag him further upright as the man whipped his head around to look in a new direction. "If you listen, you can hear them."

Alfred lifted his head up with this news. The American cocked an ear skyward to listen, not too different from a canine straining for some distant sound. Then he brightened before sitting up straighter. "That sounds like aircraft!"

"How do you know it's not simply reinforce—" Arthur's pragmatic question was automatic, cutting off only when he too felt the same subtle pull that China must have felt. It was a nation closing in on them, and if Alfred's statement was correct then they were approaching via the air.

It was a telling sign that the Russians hesitated. They could see the soldiers turning their own attentions to the sky now as the sound of approaching aircraft increased in volume. Apparently they were not expecting reinforcements judging by how nervous they became. Arthur ignored the pain in his shoulder as best he could, eyes searching the sky with as much curiosity as the others.

He flinched back when his eyes were abruptly blinding by the sudden wash of spotlights from low-flying aircraft. The Englishman swore loudly and tried to rub the filigree of blinding dots out of his vision as the aircraft came flying over the courtyard. Arthur wasn't able to see what was taking place when Alfred's weight was suddenly surging forward against him, the American's body pushing his to the floor of the transport like some protective shield while Arthur was still stunned.

The courtyard around their transport became riddled with a stream of bullets being fired from the helicopter flying overhead. Those Russian vehicles that presented the most threat were riddled with strikes, soldiers shouting as many of them wisely abandoned their vehicles to avoid getting caught in the wave of fire. Most of the soldiers began to scramble from this new, unexpected attack from the air. When some began to muster up an effort to seek out their anti-aircraft weapons, the support of other military aircraft swooped over the Russian base and offered assistance fire to keep their unit protected from the hostile forces on the ground.

Arthur's sight finally cleared. He looked directly up at where Alfred's face hovered above him, seeing the American's tense face outlined in the reflection of fire and bursts of light from the aircraft overhead. Then the Englishman lifted his head to try and catch a glimpse of the helicopters to identify them. "Who is that?"

Alfred shook his head as he squinted in an effort to see any identifiable markings on the aircraft. The answer came quickly when there was a crackle of a speaker overhead from the main helicopter. A voice rang out over the entirety of the base, and by the polite tone alone it was easy to place their rescuer. Japan sounded as diplomatic as ever.

"Esteemed Russian patriots. I apologize that we must resort to force in this situation but I am afraid that I cannot allow you to destroy these individuals. Please surrender immediately so that we may extract our friends. Otherwise, we will be forced to open fire again. Sorry."

By the time the helicopters finally landed there in the courtyard, most of the Russian forces had retreated. These Japanese aircraft were too well armed and any sign of attack would have been dealt with swiftly. The door of the main helicopter slid open as they climbed out of their transport. Kiku was framed by the opening. He took in the sight of them looking dirty and battered from their ordeal with a neutral expression.

Then he bowed formally at the waist. "I am most sorry for my tardiness."

* * *

A/N: If my comeback sucks, feel free to kick me. And if I seem on the verge of becoming tardy with an update again, kick me for that as well. I am becoming a masochist author. =w=


	17. Update!

Just dropping a quick note to those who have been holding out for an update to _From the Ashes_ and _World Conference: An American Perspective_:

I am planning to try and get a conclusion for _FtA_ done here soon. Sadly, this year has been considerably crazy for me with several moves between states. I also became incredibly frustrated because the final chapter to _FtA_ is currently sitting on my laptop and my laptop is stone dead.

Once I get the re-write completed, my goal is to have it up and ready for viewing here very soon. Hopefully in the next week or two. _WC_'s next chapter should, if luck holds, follow shortly thereafter.

Thank you to those of you who have been waiting patiently, and for those who have been leaving reviews even despite the absence of activity. I will try not to let you down!

-Streamingwords (via shiny new computer)


	18. Chapter 17 Conclusion

Oh my gracious. Finally, _From the Ashes_ has reached its conclusion. For those of you who have been waiting for the end, I do hope that you are not disappointed. Warning: This chapter has implications of naughtiness. About damned time, I am sure. Thank you to those who stuck it out. Without your interest and urgings, this might never have reached the finish line. And yet again, this is without beta help. All the errors are entirely my own.

I hope that you enjoy it.

* * *

Arthur sighed deeply, rolling his shoulder once again as he felt another surge of tension bleed out of his muscles. His injury had already healed. The bruises from his ordeal in the hands of his Russian captors and the wound to his shoulder mainly gone; except for the occasional twinge of pain in stubborn sinew. But Kiku had been wise to advise the Englishman on a good remedy for the twinges and aches that came with age or injury. So the island nation was making considerable use of Japan's private hot spring bath.

Kiku had brought their party back to his home upon their rescue. Arthur was grateful for this opportunity to unwind, recovering in relative peace before they had to make the journey back to Geneva. The chaotic company of their fellow nations would not have been conducive to his recuperation, especially when Arthur still felt bouts of tension over the entire adventure. He was piecing his composure back together a little more each day in the quiet comfort of Kiku's home, and surmised that the others were doing the same. Their tribulations in the wilderness might have come to an end, yet the troubles waiting back in Geneva would be an entirely different level of difficulty.

He was absorbed deep into thoughts of the days ahead of him, eyes vacantly watching the spill of delicate cherry blossoms spilling from blossoming trees, when the door behind him slid open and shut. Arthur sunk further down into the warmth of the water. He submerged himself up to his nostrils in a signal that he was not eager for anyone's company. What he had not counted on was American immunity to sullen dismissal.

Alfred slid down into the water beside the avoidant island nation. He splashed a little more than necessary to prove to Arthur that he wouldn't let the older man ignore him. His face was lit with a crooked, cheerful smile. "Kiku's been letting me get all caught up on his videogame collection. I had to have Mattie help me navigate through some parts when my eyes got too hazy but I think he had fun."

"It's probably a good sign, when your vision starts to go, that you should probably stop playing such things." Arthur drawled out as he bobbed back up to surface. "I'm surprised to see you out. I have expected that we were going to have to send a search party in to unglue you from the screen."

The American shrugged. "It helps me relax. Turn off my brain for a while, do something that isn't too important or demanding of me." Alfred nudged the Englishman, abruptly changing the subject with a lowering of his volume. "How's your shoulder?"

Arthur turned his face up higher to the sky. The sun was setting on another day of safety. So why was he suddenly feeling another bubble of tension inside? "It hurts a bit. Just more of annoyance than anything. I'm used to being annoyed by things though, so I think I might survive." He twitched a wry smile aside to the American.

It surprised him to see that Alfred's face had become solemn. The younger man's forehead was furrowed, eyes troubled as the American stared ahead of them towards the deepening shadows of the spring water. "We'll be leaving here soon. They're expecting us back at Geneva. So we can't put off returning much longer."

"Are you worried about what they'll say?" Arthur asked curiously as he tried to interpret the cause for Alfred's dampened mood. "Germany will honor his word to you. And as much as it pains me considerably to admit it, Francis isn't enough of a bastard that he'd turn things around either. Plus he knows that he'd have to deal with me if he considered trying to go back on his promise now."

"Well, yeah, I mean I am worried a little about it-" Alfred cut off with an exasperated huff, twisting now to face Arthur more fully. "I wasn't really talking about that stuff. Doesn't it bother you? That after all of this time we've spent, and everything that we've been through - in a few days we'll still have to go back to normalcy. You and I... we were just getting somewhere."

Arthur stared at Alfred during this rambling admission. He looked quickly away, trying hopelessly to ignore the sudden heat in his cheeks that signaled an unwelcome blush. "It was always inevitable, wasn't it? That at the end of this crisis we would go our separate ways again. You're desperately needed back across the Pond to assist your people. I no doubt have a considerable heap of work to return to when I reach London. Before you know it you are going to be so overwhelmed with things to do that it won't even cross your mind. And eventually you'll forget all about this puzzle of 'us'."

Alfred shook his head stubbornly. He wasn't prepared to let it go no matter how reasonably Arthur dismissed it away. "We don't have to let it end like that. There's always other options. We could-"

"Could what?" Arthur heard his voice turn colder, thick with bite. He knitted his eyebrows together to fix the American with a dark look. "Court each other across the Atlantic? Because a long distance 'relationship' worked out so well for us the first time around, hm?"

That scathing retort earned the Englishman a swift thump on the nose. Arthur swore softly, scowling at Alfred as the other man gave him a warning look that he'd repeat the action. "There's no reason to play dirty like that. Maybe it could work. The world's different now. _We_ are different now. Plus, there are cellphones and computers and internet communication. Er... when they get it all working again anyway."

Pursing his lips, Arthur shook his head again in negation. "You make it sound like it would be so easy. Yet there are a million reasons why it won't work." He reached over to place his hand upon the American's arm to give it a gentle squeeze. "Alfred - America. It was a thrilling adventure. The time that we shared together is something I'm sure we'll think warmly of in the future. Let's just leave it at that. For your sake and for my own."

Alfred looked disappointed. He opened his mouth to voice further argument, except the Englishman had made it clear that the issue was no longer open for discussion. The American glanced aside with a frown. "Sorry. Yeah, you're right. I'll have a ton of work to do. Have to rebuild fast if I'm going to be a superpower again, you know? And you'll have all those meetings, diplomatic things - the polite stuff that you seem to enjoy doing."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't tell if that disappointment were genuine or a deception to get to him. However, that look on Alfred's face had always been a weakness for him. He sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Pushing up higher so that he could twist towards the American, Arthur surprised himself when he reached out to take hold of the younger man's chin. His head closed in to press a quick kiss upon Alfred's mouth.

A sound of surprise from Alfred felt like a reward. Arthur had released him within seconds, climbing hurriedly out of the water to leave the American gaping. The island nation wrapped a towel around his waist with his back stiffly turned to Alfred. His voice was light as he spoke over his shoulder, though the spread of the Englishman's blush had spread clear to the nape of his neck. "We're not back to work yet. There are still a couple of days left to put those concerns off and just enjoy it."

Arthur snatched up another towel to fluff at his hair as he padded away to the door, a green eye flashing back at Alfred as he slid the wood open. "And don't stay in too long. You might faint or prune. Ivan would never let you live it down."

* * *

The night was quiet. Yet Arthur was still uncontrollably restless. He wished that there were some distraction to focus his mind upon. Once there had been spirits here to disturb his sleep; now they were gone, whether from the events of the world or having faded with time, Arthur didn't know. The stillness around him would not allow him to settle, and the island nation turned over onto his side for the hundredth time while he tried to figure out what had caused this tension in him.

It certainly wasn't his room. Kiku had gone to much effort to make it a place that he'd enjoy. There were subtle details that their Japanese host had thoughtfully added for his comfort. A vase of his beloved roses to fill the room with a scent of home. The soft fabric of a blanket imprinted with his national flag that Arthur had enjoyed just as much his first visit there. Such considerations on Kiku's part was a factor in what had made them fast friends so long ago, and Arthur could nearly summon up fond memories despite everything that had transpired since those distant years.

Arthur dug his cheek further down into his pillow, scowling at the wall. He felt like he were waiting for something. What that might have been, the Englishman couldn't pinpoint. Waiting for the unavoidable time when he'd have to return home to mounds of work and the endless cycle of responsibility? Waiting for some new crisis to interrupt these last few days of peace? Or was he just simply waiting for dawn to arrive?

The door to his room slid open and shut behind him in the darkness.

_Oh. _Arthur thought as he held his breath. _So that's what it was._

He reluctantly began to turn over to face his nighttime visitor. There was already a good idea in his head who it was. He squinted at the approaching shape in the darkness, opening his mouth to voice some whisper, though what he might say had not yet occurred to Arthur. On the edge of him blurting something out there was a sudden thud in his room. That moving shape was abruptly hurtling at him, so that Arthur could only brace himself for a landing when a heavy weight came crashing down across his waist. "Oof!"

"Aw, crap!" The accent was unmistakeably American. Arthur could feel Alfred trying to pull his limbs out of the graceless heap they had fallen into. It caused knees and elbows to dig painfully at the island nation's body as he applied as much effort to shoving at the bigger man to get that weight off him. Alfred's voice was an exaggerated whisper. "Sorry. Sorry! I didn't mean to trip on you."

Arthur pushed up onto his elbows. He reached over to the wall nearby, pulling on the string that connected with drawn curtains at his window so that he could get them opened. Moonlight flooded in as a thin stream so that it highlighted the pinched face of Alfred poised upon the bottom of the mattress, hair tousled and the borrowed robe from Kiku twisted awkwardly now. Arthur's imagination helpfully supplied a flash of the American's old, familiar eyeglasses where they would have undoubtedly been rendered askew if they'd been on Alfred's face.

Bemused with this invasion of his failed attempts at sleep, Arthur smirked wryly at the American. "What are you doing in here, Alfred? Get lost on the way to your room?"

"I... ah..." Alfred's face turned aside, the shadows claiming enough of his features that Arthur couldn't read his expression. "I thought about what you'd said. About making the most of this time. And I figured that... um..." He trailed off, faltering again.

Arthur's smirk softened. "You figured that you'd come barreling into my room before proceeding to fall and try to crush me in my bed?"

"No." Alfred looked back at the older man, sullen. "It wasn't the cool entrance that I had been hoping for, I'll admit."

"I can't recall a time when you attempting to sneak into my bedroom was ever 'cool'." The Englishman pointed out, before he slid his elbows out from their supporting angles to drop back heavily to the mattress. Arthur sighed as he gazed up at the hovering American. "If this is an attempt at seduction, you're blowing it."

Alfred's face broke out in a grin. "Sorry. I'm better as a man of action. You have a knack for putting me off my normal rhythm. I think I've got it handled now."

The American plucked at the fabric of Arthur's blanket, peeling it up so that he could slip below to invade that warm space. Arthur's intended retort was silenced as Alfred covered his mouth by swooping down for a kiss. That action caused all the thoughts in the Englishman's brain to abruptly dissolve. He felt too hot now, blanketed as he was by fabric; more distractingly by the weight of Alfred's body and the spreading grasp of the American's limbs.

Arthur felt a sensation akin to drowning. The air in his lungs closed off, forcing him to turn his face aside to break from that kiss. He gasped out breathlessly. "I'm surprised that you'd even care to do this under something with my banner on it."

There was a brief hesitation on Alfred's part as he was reminded of this fact. Then an arm went moving across them, before Arthur caught a glimpse of his blanket being swept aside. He blinked eyes that were turning quickly dazed to track the image of his flag folding into a careless collapse on the floor nearby. It occurred to him to protest this casual mistreatment of his national emblem, yet when he opened his mouth to do so Arthur found his chin being taken by a hand too unfairly strong, and his lips being claimed by a kiss too unfairly searing.

He decided that it was a slight he could let pass for now.

Neither man bothered to retrieve it for the rest of the night.

* * *

Stepping out onto the tarmac into afternoon sunshine, Arthur was surprised to find that some of their fellow nations had bothered to come greet them. His cheeks heated with awkward tension as the Englishman endured a few embraces. He glanced aside to see that Matthew was speaking rapidly with Francis, their French flowing out as breezily as the slight wind that the slowing propellers overhead was still kicking up. There was some confusion, then alarm, in the initial moments that Ivan hopped down out of their transport helicopter. Matthew quickly smoothed over the situation with the promise of further explanation once everyone was inside.

Arthur was distracted from the conversations taking place with Yao, Ivan and the rest. He found himself abruptly being taken into a tight hug from an unexpected source. The Englishman was flustered to be embraced by Francis; they were better at being rivals than being friends, yet knowing that the other nation felt some sincere concern for him was oddly touching. Of course, all too quickly, the Frenchman's hands started to stray right where they didn't need to. Arthur was just forming a fist for a deserved punch when all at once he was extracted out of Francis' grip with a strong hand.

Quickly inserting himself between the two, Alfred flashed a bright, beaming smile to Francis while casually fitting his arm across Arthur's shoulders. He had their bags dangling in his other hand, the weight effortless. "Heya, Francis! Got a hug for me too?"

"A-ah." Francis was quick to catch on to some subtle warning in the American's tone. His blue eyes flickered intently over the pair before puckering thoughtfully in the corners. The man's sudden smile erased that subtle shift. "Perhaps after everything has settled down, oui? Matthieu~!" Bidding a quick retreat, the Frenchman returned his attention to the Canadian, pawing at Matthew as he began escorting the younger man back towards the complex.

Arthur watched them start to go. He nudged Alfred in the ribs, causing the American to grunt. "You didn't need to do that. I can handle Francis just fine on my own."

Once he'd recovered from that well-aimed dig at his ribs, Alfred grinned down. "Oh. You have no idea how _much _I needed to do that. For the look on his face, if for no other reason."

With a roll of his eyes, Arthur reached to take his bag from the other man. "Regardless, I can take care of things without your help. And I can certainly carry my own belongings. We're getting left behind."

"Mm." Alfred's grunt was dismissive. He still made no motion to release the Englishman that he'd succeeded in catching in the grip of that looped arm. "Just give me a minute. I still don't know what's going to happen in there. Can I at least lean on you for a few seconds more?"

". . ." Arthur sighed. He looked up at Alfred, those words softening up his resolve to be professionally aloof. "It'll all turn out just fine. I promise that I won't let them corner you into some arrangement that you'll hate. We worked too hard and went too far for anyone to accuse you of being incapable. Just trust me, all right?"

Alfred nodded slowly. He applied a light squeeze across the Englishman's shoulders. The American looked ahead to where the other nations were vanishing into the glass doors of the entrance, then reluctantly let go of Arthur. "I know that you've got my back. Though it's the others that I'm worried about. Like France, for example. You think he suspects? About us?"

"Does it matter? There's really nothing to suspect. We discussed this." Arthur reminded him, turning his face quickly aside to hide his blush as he began walking hurriedly for the doors. "I am sure that Francis is keen to something having changed, yet that man always projects his own worst intentions upon other people's actions. I wouldn't worry about him. And I certainly wouldn't worry about the subject. This isn't the time to rehash over that particular topic. You need to get your head wrapped around what you plan to say to them once we're in that meeting, America."

Alfred's features pinched as he made a face. "Yeah, yeah. I got it. Come on, then. I'll show them how America gets things done."

* * *

The conference room was abuzz. To Arthur, that chaos of noise felt like the first real step back towards normalcy. He had settled into his seat beside Francis without even having bothered to go to his room and unpack, or ringing up his officials to inform them of his return. That was a lecture to put off for the time being. Arthur spent much of his time looking around the room to take in the gathering of nations that had thankfully grown since the day that he'd left here on a wild adventure.

Many more nations had come out of the broad world. Even some feared to have been lost forever had proven otherwise. Arthur looked at the faces of these other nations, and though he could not count many of them as friends, it still pleased him to see that they were still around. His eyes lifted to the map that still hung upon the wall of the conference room. Some of those territories marked in red had been revised. Less lost than intially expected. It gave Arthur a bit of hope.

The Englishman's attention was pulled back to the table as Alfred claimed the seat on his other side. Matthew quickly followed, sitting beside his brother to lend the American support for whatever was about to come for them both. Leaning forward, the Canadian smiled encouragingly over at Arthur, even winking quickly. It earned a grudging smile out of the older man. Some of the tension in his stomach lessened.

No matter what the outcome today, both of his boys would turn out just fine.

Standing up from his seat at the head of the table, Germany picked up a gavel. He rapped it loudly to gain the attention of the nations still milling around in conversation. As the last buzzing whispers faded off into silence, Ludwig cleared his throat to address the assembly. "My fellow nations. As you have heard and now witnessed, we welcome back four members of our brethren today. America, Canada and England succeeded not only in rescuing China from the remote disaster area of the nuclear strikes, but also brought back Russia with them as well. It had been our estimation that both nations were lost in the tragedy that befell us nearly a year ago; as was the case with many others gathered here. Yet now we see that there is still hope for us to find more of our lost friends somewhere out in the world."

Ludwig drew himself up straighter. His pale eyes moved across the faces intent on him. "It has been a long, hard road just getting this far. This crisis for our world was unlike one that we ever faced before. At this time of tribulation, we managed to come together, in the spirit of rare, unbiased cooperation. We have been successful in rebuilding key modes of communication, transportation and in assisting our citizens in the reconstruction process. However, we are not here today to praise our own successes. The issues that are at the forefront of this meeting today are just as important, as the decisions made for them will impact how we proceed into the future from here. To begin, I yield the floor over to France."

Glancing aside, Arthur felt the Frenchman shift to stand as he was called upon. Francis managed to tamper his usual dazzling smile into one better suited to the more grave topics that they had come to discuss today as he addressed the assembly. "Our first order of business, which I am sure many of you are keen to resolve, is how we intend to act upon the matter of Russia's unexpected return."

A few nations glanced down the table to where Ivan was seated. Arthur followed their gazes to where the Russian was in his place. The boy was dwarfed by his chair, hands folded upon the table that his head was only barely able to see over. Despite the fact that they were now discussing his fate, Ivan's expression was serene. Arthur could read a casual resignation in the boy's manner; the chances of anyone speaking up for him here were slim, not just for his actions in the past but for his own broad instigation of attacks against many who had come here.

Ivan's eyes shifted to meet the Englishman's. His lips curved into a tiny, subtle smile. Even in the shell of a boy, Russia was as fearless as ever. There had been plenty of time during their journey for Ivan to ponder upon his eventual fate upon their return to Geneva. It seemed that he was at peace no matter the result.

Arthur turned his eyes down, tuning back in to Francis' words beside him. "-just as I am aware that Russia's actions cannot go unpunished. Many of us were attacked without any provocation in the situation. It has already been proposed that Russia be removed from his position of remaining national power, and that what salvageable lands in his possession be placed under the care of-"

There was a clatter from further down the table. The sound managed to interrupt Francis, who was left staring in surprise. Arthur felt his own eyebrows creeping upwards in astonishment to find that Matthew had stood up from his chair in the middle of the Frenchman's speaking. But no one looked quite as startled as the Canadian himself. His cheeks flushed, eyes flickering uncertainly as he found the attention of the entire assembly upon him. "A-ah... I.. object."

Francis glanced down to Arthur for explanation as a fresh buzz of whispers spread around the table. The Englishman shrugged, pushing up with hands braced on the table so that he could speak up as Matthew began to falter. "I am sure that whatever Canada wishes to say is highly important. Might we hear him out, Germany, before we proceed any further about talk of dismantling Russia?"

"I'll allow the interruption, with the permission of France?" Ludwig's gaze shifted from the two men, questioning Francis. The Frenchman's shoulders pulsed his own shrug. His hand twisted in the air to gesture a prompt towards Matthew as he sat down, watching the Canadian with curious amusement.

Matthew sought out Arthur's gaze to give him a nervous nod of gratitude. The Englishman returned a small smile of encouragement before jerking his head in a subtle indication of the assembly that was waiting. It was Matthew's turn to speak. And, for once, he had an audience listening intently.

Gathering his thoughts in the face of his impulsive objection, Matthew took a deep breath and forced his nervous voice into one of firm persuasion. "No one here will argue that Ivan is responsible for much of the destruction that happened. We know that there is a burden of guilt that falls upon him for what transpired. I myself suffered the misfortune of having two of his missiles strike my territory. It was painful. And it took me some time before I was able to recover from the damage. I _still _feel the occasional twinge from wounds that haven't fully healed." He shifted his weight to shake one of his legs to indicate what he meant.

"But to assign all of the blame upon Ivan, and to hold him accountable for the entire span of events of that day, is unfair." Matthew turned his head to focus upon Ivan briefly. His eyes then moved slowly around the table to the faces of the other nations. "For a long time, we have allowed the people of our nations to act as they so choose. We exist among them as figureheads now more than anything. It is easier to pretend that we had no part in it when they commit acts of evil, isn't it? Many times, sitting among all of you, I have heard that very excuse used to dismiss massacres, war and needless destruction of their lands. No one here has ever opted to take direct responsibility for the actions of their people. Yet now that the tables have turned, it sounds like the actions of Russia's people on that day are being pinned directly to him. An obvious hypocrisy."

He pointed in Ivan's direction, Matthew's courage building enough with the few nods of agreement that he received for the Canadian to continue. "Nothing in Ivan's conduct along our journey showed any indication that he was seeking out power, or destruction. There were many times where he could have acted selfishly. In the sake of his own interests, Ivan might have easily made it so that none of us would have returned from our journey. The opportunities were there. If his intentions were as monstrous as initially believed, then I certainly would not be standing here amongst you. Ivan helped to save us. He didn't have to fight against his own people."

Matthew dropped his hand to tap his finger upon the tabletop. "None of us were there to witness for ourselves how his people decided to act on that day when nuclear warfare began. I can tell you from experience, though, that they seem to be in a state of confusion. And confusion can lead all too easily into fear, and fear has always been the catalyst for acting destructively in the past. Many of them are simply trying to live in a world that has fallen into chaos for them, uncertain of what is going to happen in the future and waiting for guidance. I wouldn't doubt that many of them are just like Ivan right now - expecting the worst and trying to bolster themselves to meet it with grace."

"If we send other nations in to alter the course of their lives then we... ah.. I mean, who knows what they might.. do." As the steam started to fizzle out of him, Matthew's conviction went unraveling with it. He bit on the corner of his lip as his mind derailed from the point that he was trying to make.

Standing up beside his brother, Alfred was ready to jump in to keep the Canadian's momentum going. "Canada's right. And I think what he is trying to say is-"

"We have not yet recognized you, America. Please reclaim your seat." Germany interrupted tersely, knowing how easily Alfred could get them off topic considering his past speeches.

Alfred's jaw clamped shut, the American scowling. He began to lower back into his chair, yet a hand on his arm made him pause. His face turned to England in surprise to find that it was the island nation. The Englishman swiveled his chair towards the head of the table where Germany was still prepared to reiterate the rules. Arthur's smile was polite. His eyes were not. "Forgive me for pointing this out, Germany, but with all due respect I think that America going out of his way these last months to rescue China has earned him the right to say whatever the bloody hell he wants to say, when he wishes to say it."

Taking his hand off Alfred's arm, Arthur sunk back into his chair, sending his eyes over the rest of the table. The challenging look on his face was perfected from years of piracy as he added, "My boys are talking. And anyone that has an issue with it can bring it up to me in person after the meeting." He caught Alfred's eye to give a subtle jerk of his chin indicating for the American to continue.

It took every ounce of discipline Alfred possessed not to grin at that. Luckily, his humor was tempered by the serious business at hand. "Thanks, England. Anyway, as I was about to say: Taking away the power of a nation and putting it into someone else's hands shouldn't be a solution to _every_ problem. Even though it pains me to say it, we can't put all the blame on Russia. The little bastard needs to get his people back on track. Otherwise the same kind of people that we encountered while there will just start to spread until it's all completely out of control."

"What should happen, rather than removing him out of power, is for Russia to be allowed to run his country with close supervision_._ Then if he _does_ start getting out of hand we can be alert to it right away." Alfred suggested, trying to sound reasonable rather than his usual domineering self. "We have already established Geneva as our base of operations, right? So Ivan can remain here, where there are bound to be nations on hand to keep an eye on him. And while he is being babysat in.. uh.. international house arrest, he can continue to rebuild his country from afar. It's gonna take him a hell of a long time to even be able to reach the top shelf of a fridge, let alone cause another international crisis."

"And if for some reason the little runt decides to stir things up here in Geneva, then I'll personally make the trip from my land to haul his ass back to the States." Alfred promised with a narrowing of blue eyes at Ivan in warning. "Because I _will _be returning to my people, and no one else is going to be in charge of rebuilding my land but _me._ Right?"

Ludwig's mouth tugged down in the corners. "We were going to put that to a vote. In light of your arguments, and the fact that England is glaring at me like that, I think we can skip that part of today's agenda to avoid any potential bloodshed." The German's pale gaze rested heavily upon Alfred from his seat. "You have made your point, America. And a proposal is now on the floor supporting that Russia remain in his position of power under observation. We will take a vote on it beginning now."

* * *

Arthur was in his room when a knock came on his door. He could tell by the excitement of it who had come to call upon him. The Englishman opened it, stepping back when swinging it open to evade the charge of an intended embrace as Alfred came rushing in. "There's no need to gloat out here where the neighbors can hear you, America. But do come in."

Alfred slumped a little in disappointment to find his arms still empty where he had calculated an Englishman would be. His bottom lip jutted out as the American pushed the door shut behind him, since Arthur had already abandoned him to return to his task. "I'm not gloating. Okay, well maybe a little gloating." Trailing after Arthur, he frowned as he watched the island nation stuff a meticulously folded sweater into a suitcase. "What are you doing?"

"Packing." Arthur informed him dryly, as if this ought to have been obvious. "I've been delayed long enough. My people need me back at home as soon as I can make it - and there just so happens that one of the helicopter pilots has agreed to make the trip over to my place despite the hour being so late." He pulled open another drawer to check if it had been emptied. "So I've got about ten minutes to be ready to go."

When he returned to his suitcase with a handful of folded socks, Alfred's hand flipped up the lid of it to bar the Englishman from adding them to the rest. Arthur blinked up in surprise, only to find a dark look on the younger man's face. Alfred's eyes were hard. "And I take it you were planning to just sneak away without saying a word to me? I would have figured you to have grown out of those old habits by now."

"It's not like that and you know it." Arthur retorted tersely. He batted Alfred's hand aside to wedge his socks into his briefcase. His spine stiffened in offense to the implication made with those words. "We have both an exorbitant amount of work to do. Everything that we set out to do here has been accomplished. You and Matthew will be returning home here very soon to get your own affairs in order. It's time for me to go."

Alfred huffed. He tried to remain stubborn on the issue. There just wasn't any arguing with Arthur's logic. The American tossed his hands skyward in defeat. "Okay, okay. So you're right. The sooner that we all get started, the better. But don't pretend like your sudden sense of urgency has everything to do with you slinking out of here without telling me."

Arthur was prevented from retreating to the dresser again as a long arm wrapped around his waist. Alfred fetched the smaller man to his side, a hand already fitting fingers firm on Arthur's chin to turn the Englishman's face up to lock their eyes. This naturally caused the island nation to sputter in mild protest, even if it felt proper and inviting there in that embrace. Alfred's voice dropped low. "You just can't bring yourself to deal with saying 'goodbye', can you?"

"Don't presume to understand my motivations." Arthur grumbled, betrayed by the wash of pink across his features and his evasive eyes. "I could always ring you later. It's not as if we won't be speaking again soon. You need not make it sound like I am running off forever."

"I know that." Alfred nodded quickly. "But after what we've been through, and what we shared, you shouldn't _presume _that I'd let you walk out the door without getting to do this."

Alfred's face swooped down to close his lips securely over Arthur's. The Englishman's immediate need to resist it and Alfred's automatic move to dominate it made it hard in the beginning. Then they found the right balance to perform a subtle alchemy that transformed their clash of mouths. It was sweet for a long moment, full of tender pressure and warmer emotions. Arthur surrendered with a soft exhale, allowing the touch of Alfred's fingertips on his cheek to seep through his walls long enough to just enjoy the kiss.

Suddenly Alfred's arm tightened in a squeeze, which somehow sparked some answering need in Arthur, and the Englishman heard a soft growl rolling out of his throat as he began to attack the younger man's mouth with more earnest. It was something that was always just under the surface of his demeanor; a wilder streak that was too long dormant. Arthur's fingers thrust deep in Alfred's hair to force the kiss deeper as he greedily sought more.

Another knock on his door served as a timely interruption. It knocked the Englishman back from the verge of whatever conquest he might have been about to attempt on Alfred's person. He twisted out of the American's arm with a quick clearing of his throat, ignoring the fact that he'd gone scarlet clear up to the roots of his hair. "I imagine that'll be the pilot. Get the door for me, would you?"

Alfred swallowed thickly as he nodded. The American's lips were reddened from the last moments of their kiss, but Alfred managed to mask it by plastering on a grin as he got the door. "Well hey there! You must be the poor guy that has to fly this grumpy bastard back to London, huh?"

"Sorry for taking so long." Arthur called from near the bed as he zipped up his briefcase. He took it in hand before crossing to the door to greet the pilot. After that small exchange, Arthur turned to Alfred beside him. His hand stuck out in front of him, all business and composure, like he hadn't just been about to devour Alfred's mouth. "Thank you again, America. For... well... for _everything._"

Green eyes locked with blue, as Alfred firmly gripped the Englishman's hand. He squeezed it while trying to transmit through his gaze what he didn't dare say in front of the human pilot. It might have made Arthur's head explode with embarrassment. "Likewise. We'll be in touch again soon, yeah? Give me a call when you make it home. And try not to drown yourself immediately in work. An old man like you needs his rest."

Arthur retracted his hand. He gave the American a deadpan look for that last insult, pivoting smartly on his heel as he walked out of the room after the pilot. "Piss off, Yankee."

* * *

_Six Months Later_

"...and with China signing today, that marks yet another country that has joined the world in making a statement against any future construction of nuclear weaponry. This popular legislation, first proposed by Canada and given solid backing from the United States, has since created a wave of international support. A future without any possibility of a repeated tragedy of the events that unfolded over a year ago. At a press conference today, China's officials stated-"

Arthur hit the button for the remote to cut the newscaster off, leaving the television screen blank. It was just another distraction that he didn't need. He'd already heard from China that morning about the impending signing and while the news was welcome it certainly didn't help his concentration to have the noise in the background. His office was already buzzing enough as it was. "I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

"The budget report. You had promised to have it done two days ago, sir. Plus, Her Majesty is still waiting for word from you as to whether you'll be attending the gala to welcome the visiting delegates from Scotland. It's best that you not blow them off again, sir, don't you think?"

Arthur groaned. "They're always so demanding. I have been making the trip up there almost every week but you'd think I hadn't set foot in Saxon territory since the Dark Ages." He rubbed at his cheek, sighing out as he tried to remember where he'd stashed that budget report. The Head of Accounting continued to hover nearby as if expecting that Arthur would deliver it promptly. It took the Englishman almost five minutes to finally fish it out from the rest of the stack to hand it over.

His secretary came in with a fresh up of tea, holding a small parcel in his other hand. "A package came for you, sir. Shall I just leave it here?"

"Yes, thank you." Arthur answered automatically, relieved as the man from Accounting finally left his office. He took that teacup gratefully to sip at it. "Do you know who the package is from?"

"No sir." Shaking his head, Arthur's secretary took away his empty teacup. "But I was instructed by the delivery man that you should open it urgently. Shall I lock the door to give you a few minutes to breathe, sir?"

Arthur shook his head. "It wouldn't do me a bit of good. Someone else is bound to come rushing in here any moment with another task for me." Placing his teacup aside, the Englishman quickly took that package in hand to start opening it. Arthur sat back deep in the support of his chair as he worked the tape open, peeling back the lid to see what might have come to him, certain that it must have been something wonderfully boring like new office supplies.

Instead, it was a cell phone.

Picking it up out of the box, Arthur turned it over to make a curious inspection of it. He noticed a small note that had been tucked below the phone and unfolded it to read what it said with a tilt to his head.

_Turn it on._

Unable to resist such a cryptic message like that, the Englishman frowned in confusion as he complied with the request of the note. Shortly after he did the cell phone started to vibrate as a message reached it. Arthur checked the number to see who it was from.

_Unknown: Hi there._

Arthur's eyebrow arched. That wasn't the most informative clue he had to work off of. The cell phone shook again.

_Unknown: It's me. Alfred. You busy right now?_

Snorting quietly in amusement, Arthur smiled softly. It had been a while since he'd had a chance to speak directly with Alfred. These last months had been so overwhelming for the both of them that getting to talk had been rare, and he had not even seen Alfred in person since leaving Geneva. He felt a thrill in his heart, twisted bittersweet over this stolen opportunity. Arthur's thumbs tapped awkwardly over the keys of the phone. _I'm right swamped, actually. Swamped in work. Same with you?_

He was impatient for the next message, tugging his tie loose as Arthur curled further into his seat. The answer was quick.

_Alfred: I'm always busy. Heroes don't rest. But you shouldn't work so much. You'll get wrinkles. Take a break?_

_Can't do that, I'm afraid. People have been running in and out of my office all day._

_Alfred: You want me to rescue you?_

Arthur chuckled out loud at that question. He shook his head, smirking at yet another impossible plan from the American. _Sure. You distract them with robots and I'll make a break for it in the mayhem._

_Alfred: I didn't bring any robots with me._

That caused Arthur's head to twist in a new direction. The wording confused him. He hesitated before typing another response. _How are you going to rescue me without robots?_

_Alfred: How about we drive off into the sunset? Really, really fast._

Arthur rolled his eyes. _And when are we going to do that?_

_Alfred: Look out your window._

With a scowl, Arthur lowered the cell phone to look out the window again as it instructed him to do. His office window gave him a full view of the parking lot, as well as the businesses that lined the block around the area. He nearly dropped it out of his grip with a sudden shock.

Alfred waved at him cheerfully from outside. The American was seated on a motorbike, one foot braced on the ground. It seemed surreal that Alfred could actually be there, and yet Arthur was unable to blink the image away. He was slack-jawed as he slowly rose from his chair to stare outside at the younger man. Breaking their eye contact, Alfred focused down on something in his hand, nimble fingers moving quickly. Then the American looked directly back at Arthur again, just as the cell phone in the Englishman's hand vibrated again.

Arthur looked down at it dumbly to read the new message from the man outside.

_Alfred: Right now. Come on, England. I'll have you back before midnight. Run away with me?_

The cell phone clattered down upon Arthur's desk. He hurried to the door of his office, snatching his jacket off its hook on his way out. The Englishman ducked his head down to ignore the questions that pelted him along the way - most of all the trailing voice of his secretary. "Sir? Sir, where are you going? Sir, there's your press meeting in half an hour. Sir?"

Practically at a run as he broke free into the parking lot, Arthur's coat flapped behind him as he rushed to the American and that motorbike. The Englishman slowed to a stop, leaning against Alfred's shoulder as he panted to try recovering his breath from having made an escape in record time. "S-sonofabitch. My employees are a merciless group of slave drivers."

"Sounds like you need a hero." Alfred announced with a grin. He gathered Arthur's body to his side in a clumsy embrace, cell phone still in his hand. Arthur was glad to stand in that warmth. It felt natural to lean there for a moment's rest. The American hummed as he loosened his grip on Arthur, shifting upright to start the bike. With a roar, the engine came to life as Alfred pointed to the doors of the office. "You'd better hop on. They're giving chase!"

Arthur twisted to glance over his shoulder. His secretary was coming out of the front doors with a stack of papers in one hand and Arthur's briefcase in the other. "Sir! Your documents! They're due by the end of the day!"

Not wasting another second with hesitation, the Englishman hurriedly climbed up to sit behind Alfred on the motorbike's seat. He snaked his arms around the American's torso to cling tightly to him and yelled over the sound of the engine. "My hero. Now drive!"

Alfred cranked the gas so that they went shooting off, speeding forward away from Arthur's secretary. The Englishman held tighter as the American went veering off out of the parking lot and into the mass of London traffic. Wind was blowing through Arthur's hair, rushing over his face, though once they had left the property the younger man had slowed them a sensible speed. Arthur lifted his face up to speak loud in the American's ear. "What the hell are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be doing press conferences for your nuclear ban legislation?"

"Mattie's handling it." Alfred shouted back over his shoulder. "Now that people are really listening to him, he's actually turning out to be one hell of a spokesperson. Who'd have thought he'd be good at the diplomatic stuff?"

"So basically you are shirking your duties to be here?" Arthur asked him with a smirk.

Alfred turned his face back ahead to watch the traffic without bothering to answer that. He drove them a few blocks more before speaking to Arthur again. "I wanted to see you. I _had_ to see you. France had called me the other day and told me that you were being consumed by work. Someone needed to come here and save you from it."

"I'll have to thank the frog for being considerate for a change." Arthur mused, lacing his fingers together against Alfred's stomach. He turned his face down into the leather of the American's jacket. That old, familiar bomber jacket had gone through enough repairs that it smelled once again of musky leather rather than burnt material. "What are you planning to do with me now that you've rescued me?"

The American grinned broadly. "Lunch first. Then we go back to your house. And once I've got you completely worn out then we're going out for dinner. After that, it's your place again for the rest of the night. Any objections to my plan, England?"

"There's only two flaws that I can observe in it, America."

"And what's that?"

"First, we should get a hotel room instead. My house is far too risky. They'll track me down there too easily." Arthur pointed out.

"Roger that." Alfred agreed, before asking curiously. "What's the second flaw in my plan?"

Arthur squeezed the other man.

"You're driving on the wrong side of the bleeding road."

* * *

And they lived dysfunctionally ever after. Though I am sure this is not the last of these two in their little universe. Next on the agenda is the continuation of _World Conference. _And perhaps a few more bits and pieces here that might help to make up for such a long, long absence.

Thanks again to those of you who encouraged this story to its conclusion. All my love and cookies.


End file.
